


Salted Caramel

by patchworkofstars



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Anagrams, Angst, British AU because I don’t know how America works, Bullying, College AU, Fluff, Graphic descriptions of writer’s block, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Poetry, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchworkofstars/pseuds/patchworkofstars
Summary: Roman is a popular History student – handsome, cool, and the life of the party. But behind the mask lies a different Roman, a fanfic writer and fantasy nerd who dreams of becoming an author. When a nasty case of writer's block steals his one source of happiness, the spiralling stress threatens to tear his double life apart.And as if that wasn’t enough to deal with, his dorky classmate Patton keeps on further complicating everything.





	1. Shining Armour, Tarnished Spirit

Roman twirled, shimmied, sashayed his way across the dance floor, his body moving in perfect rhythm to the beat of the bass as it throbbed in his ears. His red shirt shifted softly against his skin, the top buttons undone allowing the deliciously cooling movement of air at his neck. As he spun, further currents swirled gently up around his waist, and he relished the relief from the heat of dancing.

As the song ended he spun to a halt, pulling out his phone to take a selfie and superstitiously check the time. 1.30 am. It was time to make a getaway.

He glanced over at the group he'd arrived with, but they were busy dancing, drinking, and seducing each other. With a skill gained from months of practice, he slipped away through the crowd towards the exit. If the others noticed his absence they’d assume, as they always did, that he’d picked up some cute guy and left with him.

None of them would ever suspect the truth, that Roman would be in his bedroom alone, writing. Or rather, _trying_ to write. Lately, his creativity had become more and more scarce, until he'd been forced to accept he was suffering from a particularly aggressive attack of writer's block.

Still, he had to keep trying. With a nod of acknowledgement to the bouncers, he stepped out of the club into the dark car park and turned the corner of the building to where he’d be out of sight of the door. The last thing he wanted was for anyone he knew to see him leaving alone.

For a moment he stood, breathing in the fresh air free from the heat and smell of too many dancing bodies. He stretched, running a hand through his dark, sweat-damp hair as he looked around. It was then that he spotted three figures scuffling in the glow of a streetlight – two tall, wiry men attacking someone smaller, who was nevertheless fighting back as best they could.

Well, he couldn't let that continue, could he? He strode over, flexing his muscles in readiness. _Act cool and confident_ , he reminded himself. _Don’t let them know you’re not used to fighting without a sabre._

"Two against one?" he called out loudly as he approached them. "That's not very sporting; how about we even the odds?" 

He slammed a fist into his palm with an audible smack, and even in the low light the attackers got the message. While they didn’t exactly turn tail and flee, they backed off and then shuffled away muttering. Roman kept his eyes on them, unwilling to risk looking away until he was sure they were really gone.

“Roman?” A familiar voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts.

He froze for an instant at the sound of his name, then turned slowly around to see who he had just rescued. It had never crossed his mind that it might be someone who knew him. But there stood Patton, the dorky guy from his History course, who must have been about twenty years old, yet dressed like fifty and acted like ten.

 _Of all the people…_ What was someone like Patton even doing outside a nightclub?

“Are you alright?” Roman asked, his voice rich with concern and his eyes straining in the darkness as he scanned Patton’s face and arms for signs of scrapes and bruises. From what he’d seen, the attackers had mainly focused on punching the man’s torso and kicking his legs, but given the red patches on his arms, he’d probably have bruises there too tomorrow.

Patton nodded, running a hand gently over the skin of each arm as he checked the damage. He spat on a finger and wiped at a cut on his right bicep, but that seemed to be the only sign of blood.

“Nothing major”, he commented with a brightness Roman suspected was forced. “I’ll be fine, thanks to you!”

Roman shifted closer to him, moving to where he could see at once if anyone left the nightclub. There was no way he was going to abandon an assault victim, but being seen talking to Patton wouldn’t be good for his reputation.

“What were you...” he began, then broke off and frowned as Patton’s eyes glinted slightly in the lamplight. “Wait, are you _crying_?”

Patton rubbed at his eyes and sniffled, but smiled. “It’s just my cat allergy flaring up”, he explained lightly.

“You’re allergic to cats?”

Patton nodded. “I’m supposed to stay away from them, but I really like cats! And when I saw one in trouble, of course I had to help!”

“Wait, there was a cat in trouble?” Roman glanced around, feeling increasingly out of his depth.

“Yes! Those two guys were hurting him, so I ran over and hit them until they stopped.” Patton’s smile faded and his posture sagged. “But then they attacked me instead.”

“Well, that explains _that_ , I suppose. And where is this cat now?”

Patton perked back up. "Well, while you were scaring away the bad guys, I checked him over to make sure he was okay and then told him he should hurry on home.”

"You told him..." Roman broke off and shook his head. "Actually, never mind that. It's late, and you've already got into _one_ spot of trouble tonight. How about I walk you home, for safety?”

Patton’s eyes widened, and for a moment his jaw actually dropped. “I’d like that, thank you!” he gushed.

Roman blinked, taken aback by such enthusiasm and by the way Patton’s whole face seemed to have lit up. "So, do you live nearby?” he asked, with careful nonchalance.

Patton nodded frantically. "It's about a ten-minute walk from here", he said. "Chambers Court. Do you know it?"

“I can’t say that I do. You’ll have to show me the way.”

Patton grinned as he pointed out the direction they needed to set off in, and, with one last glance back at the nightclub door, Roman fell into step beside him. By the time he reached his own home there would barely be any time left to try writing, but given his recent luck, the attempt would most likely have been fruitless anyway. Suppressing a sigh, he surrendered to this new direction fate was taking his night in.

*****

The night air was pleasantly warm, and Roman walked confidently at Patton’s side, slowing his natural pace to accommodate his companion’s shorter stride. Patton hummed as they walked, a simple, cheerful tune that Roman didn’t recognise. He held his hands behind his back, and his footsteps almost seemed to bounce. Every now and again, Roman glanced out of the corner of his eye and caught him looking back, a happy smile on his face.

 _Weird guy_ , Roman thought, but without malice. While he wouldn’t say he _liked_ Patton, there was nevertheless something endearing about his straightforward nature. Not that he would ever say that out loud.

Patton had been right about the distance to Chambers Court, which turned out to be a nondescript 1960s concrete building. The walls were featureless but for small, widely-spaced windows, and there wasn’t even a name plaque to interrupt the gloom.

When they finally reached the door, they stood awkwardly for a few seconds in the patch of artificial light leaking from within. Roman felt torn, a part of him wanting to walk away and never look back, but another part still concerned about Patton’s injuries. He was just internally debating the issue when the man spoke up.

“Thank you so much for helping me!”, he said, beaming. “I don’t think I could’ve beaten those two guys on my own!”

Roman raised an eyebrow. _There’s no **way** you could have_ ”, he thought, but instead he smiled graciously back.

“You’re entirely welcome”, he replied, “But please, no more attacking opponents who outnumber or outclass you.”

Patton set his jaw and pushed his shoulders squarely back. “If I see someone who needs my help, I’ll do whatever it takes”, he said firmly.

 _That_ was unexpected. Roman blinked a few times. “Well then...” he faltered. “Please just try to be more careful in the future. And if you _do_ decide to do something like that again, at least call _me_ first so I can back you up.”

Patton's mouth dropped open, and he made a bizarre squeaking sound at the back of his throat. Really, he was quite unfathomably odd.

"B-but I don't have yo-your number..." he managed to stutter at last.

 _Oh, that would explain it._ Roman swallowed, feeling his face heat up and glad the low light would hide his blush. “Well then, give me your phone for a minute.”

Silently, Patton pulled out his phone and handed it to Roman, who added himself as a contact and then gave it back. Patton stared down at it wide-eyed for several seconds until Roman cleared his throat.

“If you’re ready to go inside, it’s about time I went home myself”, he pointed out.

Patton looked up, an expression of disbelief still on his face, then nodded and put his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you again”, he said, his head lowered almost shyly. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Think nothing of it”, Roman replied, with a smile that fell away as a worrying thought occurred to him. “And please, Patton, report what happened to the police. But don’t tell anyone about my involvement; I’d rather no one else knew I was there.”

“Oh?” Patton tilted his head to one side, frowning, but then he shrugged and smiled. “Anything you say, Roman! See you!”

He turned to the keypad by the door, hesitating for the briefest moment before punching in the entry code. The door clicked faintly. As soon as he was inside, he turned and waved cheerfully through the glass, still beaming. Roman gave him a half-wave back, then turned and sighed with relief before walking away.

*****

It took him about half an hour to get home, since he needed to go back via the street the nightclub was on in order to find his way. There was almost a spring in his step, and now and again he caught himself humming snatches of that unknown tune he’d heard from Patton. For all the man’s eccentricities he had been oddly soothing company, and Roman couldn’t help but feel slightly impressed at the courage he’d shown to protect a cat, of all things.

At the back of his mind, words slowly began to take shape, and he played them over as he reached his own building, arranging and rearranging them until he found a series that felt right. He made his way up the stairway, through the main door of the flat, and then across into his room at last. Sitting at his desk, he opened up his notebook and wrote down the four lines.

> I ventured out into the night  
>  And there among the shadows  
>  I met a fool who just might be  
>  A hero after all

_He’s still a dork, though_ , he thought, putting down his pen and closing the notebook with a soft thud. It was hardly his best work, but at least he’d written something. Perhaps this wretched block was easing after all.


	2. The Fires of Pride and Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman discovers something in common with Patton, but his housemate’s emo boyfriend sends his stress levels rocketing.
> 
> Warning: Mentions of food and difficulty eating

Having briefly returned to give him a glimmer of hope, Roman’s creativity deserted him for the rest of the weekend. By Monday, his desire to escape his desk and writer’s block was so strong it overcame even his fear of looking like a nerd, and for the first time ever he arrived early to the first lecture of the week.

_Big mistake_ , he realised, as he stepped into the lecture theatre only to find Patton already there. He was sitting all alone, reading a book of some sort, and Roman couldn’t help but notice he was wearing the grey cardigan he normally tied around his shoulders. Covering his arms to hide the bruises from the other night, perhaps?

Roman hesitated on the threshold, considering waiting outside until his friends arrived, but before he could make a decision, Patton looked up and saw him. The man’s whole face seemed to light up, and Roman’s heart sank. He couldn’t afford to be seen talking to Patton. Who knew what damage it would do to his reputation if people began to think they might be _friends_.

_Act confident, Roman_ , he told himself, _geeks can smell fear. That’s how they manage to survive._

His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, but he tried to feign nonchalance as he walked in and took the seat behind Patton, close enough to talk without the danger of them looking too friendly when the other students inevitably arrived.

Patton closed his book, and Roman’s breath caught when he saw the cover. _Dragon Witch Chronicles_ volume 4, _The Fires of Pride_. He swallowed, nervousness quickening his pulse and making him slightly light headed.

_Anything but that series_ , he thought. _It looks well-read, too…_

“Are you enjoying your book?” he asked, willing the words to sound casual. “You seemed very engrossed, there.”

Patton laid a hand on the cover and smiled. “It’s my all-time favourite series, he said, affection clear in his voice. “Volume six is coming out next month, so I’m re-reading them all in preparation.”

Roman looked away quickly, avoiding the other man’s eyes. _Oh gods, he’s a fan, that means he might have read…_ He cut off the thought, distracting himself by pulling up his bag to take out his notebook and pen.

But having been given an opening, Patton seized it. “Have you read any of the series?" he asked brightly.

“Uh, yes, as it happens”, Roman admitted, trying to quash his rising panic.

Patton’s eyes shone. “Who’s your favourite character?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly. “Mine’s Prince Namor.” A faint pink blush spread over his cheeks as he looked up through his eyelashes at Roman. “He actually reminds me a lot of you. You’re my hero, you know.”

Roman felt his own face begin to heat up, and swallowed again. “Ah, yes, well, Namor _is_ a fantastic character”, he agreed, a little too loudly. “He’s certainly my favourite of the main cast, but I must confess I’m hoping to see more of Tonapt, the Prince of the Cat People from book five.”

Patton’s smile grew wider. “Yes!” he breathed, clasping his hands together. “I _love_ the Cat People! Their culture is so cool, and-”

He broke off as the sound of chatter from outside heralded the arrival of a group of their coursemates. Roman immediately sat back in his chair, putting as much distance as possible between him and Patton.

Still, he couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of his eye as the smile washed away from Patton’s face like a chalk image in the rain. He scooped the book up and tucked it carefully away in his bag, taking out paper and a pen instead and fixing his eyes on the desk before him.

Roman felt a twist of guilt in his gut and almost, _almost_ leaned forward again to apologise, but then Donny’s voice called “What the hell, Zito? We’ve been looking all over for you!” and suddenly his friends were at his side, dropping their bags and sliding into the seats to his left.

Mike slung an arm loosely around his shoulders, grinning. “How come you’re here so early, Rosie?” he teased. “You turning into a swat like loser-boy there?” He nodded towards Patton, and Roman twisted his mouth into an awkward grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous”, he retorted. “I just mixed up the time and didn’t want to hang around in the corridor like a numpty.”

Somewhere at the back of his mind, the curtain between him and Patton fell once more.

*****

Roman ran up the steps to his flat two at a time, and burst through the doorway into the shared living room with a cry of “Logan, I’m hooome~!”

Then he stopped abruptly, his expression contorting from amicable to sullen in an instant.

Logan nodded in greeting from where he sat on their worn but comfortable sofa. He was all straight lines and sharp angles, his measured movements and careful speech a marked contrast to Roman's loud flamboyance. In his customary black polo shirt and blue striped necktie, he looked more like an accountant than an undergrad, but his short sleeves revealed surprisingly muscular arms, and his glasses couldn't hide the high cheekbones that always made Roman want to- 

Well, it didn’t matter what Roman wanted, because beside his handsome housemate sat the reason for his current hostility: Logan’s boyfriend, Virgil Price.

In stark contrast to his companion, he wore ripped jeans and a hoodie, with dark patches of eyeshadow painted beneath each eye in classic emo style. While Logan sat straight-backed on the sofa's seat, Virgil sat on the arm, with his feet, clad in striped purple socks, resting on the free cushion. His knees were drawn up, forearms braced against his thighs, and his hands moved rapidly through a series of gestures as they hovered over his knees.

Roman scowled at the interloper, hot anger and frustration surging upwards through his veins. “What’s _he_ doing here?” he demanded, barely managing to keep the growl from his voice.

“Virgil has had a bad day and is currently non-verbal”, Logan informed him, utterly unfazed by his tone. “I would appreciate it if you’d refrain from causing him further stress, for once. We made vegetable soup earlier, and there’s still some keeping warm if you’d like it.”

Virgil glowered and gestured rapidly at his boyfriend.

“I’m aware of that”, Logan told him aloud, “But it would be churlish not to allow him a share when we made so much. Besides which, it’s important to maintain a courteous attitude when cohabiting with someone.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, and Roman didn’t need to know sign language to understand the hand gesture the emo directed his way. Nevertheless, he moved to the kitchen area and served himself some of the soup waiting there. Logan’s cooking was always satisfying and nutritious, and anything beat preparing food for himself with a view of those two being affectionate in the background.

*****

He took the soup and some crackers to eat in his room, hiding himself away not only from Virgil’s glares but also from the pain of seeing his easy companionship with Logan, the way they were so relaxed and open with each other. It always left a hollow ache in Roman’s chest, making him wistfully wonder, despite himself, how it must feel to have someone they could each be so wholly themselves with.

He shook himself from his reverie and put on a soothing Disney medley. There was no point in dwelling on the impossible. Logan and Virgil could be honest with each other because they were both unpopular and had nothing to lose, and Roman would willingly sacrifice that if it meant he could maintain his image.

He steadied his breathing, letting his eyes drift around the room. Each wall was a patchwork of film posters, from Disney to DreamWorks to Studio Ghibli. His complete set of Dragon Witch Chronicles novels were lovingly displayed in pride of place on his bookshelf, while his textbooks sat in a haphazard pile on the floor beneath.

Letting the music wash over him, he pushed away his lingering melancholy and focused instead on thoughts of his writing as he dragged himself through the chore of eating. There was no pleasure in it, these days, having to force himself to chew and then to swallow every mouthful down past the ever-present knot of tension in his throat. Even the soup was like molten tar in his oesophagus, and solid food went down like lumps of lead. Each flavour was a faint tingling on his tongue that never registered fully in his brain. He may as well have been eating cardboard for all the pleasure it gave him.

With what passed for his meal finished, he pulled his laptop over and opened up a text file. He'd been halfway through writing a complex, multi-chapter piece of fanfiction when his writer’s block had surfaced, and the thought of yet another week going by with no new content posted increased the tension in his head to an almost visible metallic grey cloud. He gazed despairingly at the document on the screen before him. It was, to put it mildly, a raging dumpster fire of a story draft.

Well, _fine_ , he would try writing something else instead. He closed the file and double-clicked the appropriate icon on his desktop, mentally thanking Logan for the prompt-generation software he’d created. Even though he’d been almost unbearably smug about it when he’d installed it for Roman.

Opening the Block Unblocker – Logan wasn’t great at names – he clicked the button to randomly generate three nouns and a fanfiction type, the purpose being to write a story in the given genre containing all the words. Immediately, the software gave him a list.

“Cactus, wood, hat – fluff.” What the heck was he supposed to do with that? He shook his head and clicked the button again.

“France, cucumber, potato - angst.” _Something about crying over a meal in a French café, perhaps? But I don’t know anything about France. Forget it, one more try._

“Eggs, jellyfish, toaster - smut.” _What the-? No no, not writing that, no way. Not even going to **think** about that._

Ugh, he couldn’t do it. Yet again, his mind was enveloped in fog, devoid of inspiration. With a resigned sigh, he closed the file and opened his web browser. He might as well see what other people had been writing. Perhaps some light reading would help improve his mood.

He scanned down the list of titles and synopses, a bitter feeling of nausea growing in his stomach. _Damn_ , they all sounded so good. All those writers actually _writing, posting, achieving_ , while he did nothing. He wanted to claw out his heart and tear it to shreds to rid himself of the burning envy that threatened to consume him.

They were such good writers, and he enjoyed their work so much. But every story they gave to the world was a further reminder of his own failure to do the same. He loved them, but he _hated_ the way they made him feel.

_I **have** to do this, I can’t let them defeat me. I can’t let **this** defeat me._

*****

It was hopeless. His head hurt so much he could barely think, a dull but persistent ache accented every so often by a bolt of agony on the right side of his forehead. The unyielding stiffness of his neck muscles pulling his shoulders towards his chin told him this was a tension headache that painkillers would do nothing to ease. From experience, he knew the only cure would be relaxation, but how could he relax with this pounding in his skull and this bruised feeling in all of his muscles?

Desperation was eating away at his bones, dark dread creeping through his veins. What if he never wrote anything worthwhile ever again? What if he had nothing to post, nothing to offer, and all of his followers left in disgust, realising he wasn’t worthy of their attention after all? That anything he’d written had been a fluke, an accident of luck, and he didn’t deserve their praise?

He almost sobbed, and hit the back of his neck with a fist, trying to _force_ some of the tension from the muscles. But all it did was increase the ache there.

He jumped when his phone pinged, and scrambled to check the notification. An email. An email with a _comment_ about his _writing_.

It was from a user named CaramelCat, and Roman smiled indulgently. CaramelCat often commented on his work, and their words were always as sweet as their name. Even so, claws of doubt hooked into his heart. What if they were disappointed in the latest chapter? Or complaining about the long delay since he’d updated the story?

His hands were shaking as he opened the message, the adrenalin rushing through him in a wave of excitement and fear. He scanned through it rapidly, hungrily, desperate for it to be positive but terrified it might be negative. Once he had satisfied himself it was safe, he reread it more slowly, relishing each kind word, the positive feedback a balm for his bruised and fragile ego.

He read it over and over, joy bubbling up as giggles, his hands clasping and unclasping, moving up to touch his face every few words. His face was warm – heck, he was warm all over, happiness kickstarting his circulation, making him feel more alive than he had since… since…

_Since this morning, chatting with Patton about Dragon Witch Chronicles._

_No_. Patton was off-limits, and that was all there was to it. They inhabited separate spheres, and Roman wasn't about to sacrifice his popularity for anyone, especially not some overly-bubbly geek.

He took a deep breath, pushed the thought aside, and began rereading the comment yet again. It made him want to sing, to dance, to _write_. His mind fizzed with the first sparks of a dozen different ideas, all jostling for attention.

Then there was a cry of “Falsehood, Virgil, you are highly endearing” from the next room, and the blaze of envy that rose in Roman burned every spark to ashes.


	3. The Knight and the Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Brief mention of food, crying, verbal bullying, a small amount of swearing, and one use of “autistic” as a slur (by an OC, not our boys, and I specifically picked that word because I’m autistic myself)

The following few days passed uneventfully. Roman pushed through them in a daze, his mind and spirit trapped within a grey fog of despondency even as outwardly he continued as usual. He went to lectures, walked home, exchanged a few casual barbs with Virgil, or chatted briefly with Logan, summing up the events of the day while failing to mention the hollow emptiness he felt inside.

He jotted down scraps of ideas, some of them not at all bad, but just the thought of trying to write them out into proper stories or poems made him feel nauseous. Instead, he focused on studying, dragging his eyes over page after page of text from which he retained perhaps one fact in twenty.

Then he would shower, throw himself into bed, and try to imagine himself somewhere else, as some _one_ else. Someone heroic, living a life of adventure and meaningful activity. Someone less alone. Someone happy.

For six or seven hours he would dream himself away into a better, more exciting life. Then his alarm would wake him with _Ride of the Valkyries_ and he’d roll out of bed to meet the harsh light of another morning.

*****

He threw on his dressing gown and stumbled into the living room, flinging himself headlong onto the sofa and burying his face in a cushion. Roman was many things, but a morning person he most certainly was not. 

Logan, on the other hand, had the frustrating trait of being an all day person, seemingly wholly awake and alert from 6 am when he emerged from his room to 10 pm when he disappeared back into it. He claimed it had something to do with "maintaining a good circadian rhythm", but Roman had never had one of those in his life, and he wasn't about to sacrifice valuable writing and stressing time to get one now. 

Roman raised his head when he heard the welcome hiss of the kettle boiling, and found Logan looking at him with one eyebrow raised and just a hint of smugness in his expression.

“Tea?” he asked simply.

“Please”, Roman grunted, laying back down.

“You should eat something, too.”

“I will when I’ve had my caffeine”, Roman’s voice told him, muffled by the cushion and still rough with sleep.

Logan brought over the two steaming mugs and tapped him lightly on the shoulder, then stepped back out of the way as Roman rolled over and swung his legs off the sofa, leaving the other seat free. Logan sat down and handed over the red mug of English breakfast tea, his own mug giving off a distinct aroma of peppermint.

By the time his tea was half gone, the heat and caffeine buzz had done their magic and Roman felt somewhat human again. He sighed deeply, stretching his legs out in front of him to get the circulation flowing.

“I take it you have an early lecture, and this isn’t the start of an improved daily routine”, commented Logan, his voice tinged with amusement.

Roman grimaced. “ _Hardly_. I have a 9 am practical class. Hopefully, we'll actually get to _do_ something to keep me awake.”

Logan wrapped both hands around his black mug with the NASA logo, sipping his tea slowly and savouring it as he always did. Roman watched the slight crease of his forehead, the gentle slope of his eyebrows, the way his breath gently disrupted the rising flow of steam.

“You’re staring again”, Logan observed.

“Well, you’re hot when you’re thinking!” Roman bit back, then flushed red as a wave of instant regret crashed through him. _Damn it, Roman! Try being subtle sometime!_

Logan looked at him through half-fogged lenses and sighed. “Loath as I am to suggest romance as a solution to anything, you need to find someone more suitable to gawk at. Virgil has complained. I don’t think he believes your professed lack of interest in ‘nerds with glasses’.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Ugh. It’s not as if I’d steal you away from him even if I could. I’m waiting for my perfect man to come along; someone who’ll make me feel butterflies in my stomach and sunshine in my heart! Someone who’ll inspire me to write epic love poetry, and who I can devote myself to for the rest of our days!”

Logan shook his head. “Real life isn’t a fairytale, Roman. Love is about mutual compatibility and slowly-developing affection, not fireworks at first sight and living happily ever after. You’re not going to meet some attractive knight, who’ll sweep you off your feet in Tesco by rescuing you from a dragon in aisle three.”

“Hah!” Roman scoffed. “I’ll have you know _I’d_ be the one sweeping _him_ off his feet by saving _him_!” He smirked. “And besides, a dragon would be more likely to terrorise aisle four, where the meat and fish are.”

Logan shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It might be a vegetarian dragon, like Virgil”, he suggested, “Victimised for its intimidating appearance when in fact it just wants to be accepted and loved. You should try being nice to him sometime, you might find you have more in common than you think." 

“Oh, shut up, nerd”, Roman huffed.

Logan drained the last of his tea and stood up, pausing to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Eat some breakfast”, he advised, “And try to start getting more sleep. It will improve your cognitive function, and hopefully your debating skills.”

*****

A chorus of weary sighs spread through the room as the lecturer announced the class would spend their practical lesson working in groups, making posters to summarise the topic they’d spent the past few weeks studying. Just the thought of it summoned clouds of boredom to threaten the edges of Roman’s mind, but at least it was better than sitting taking notes on a lecture. And, since they could choose their own groups of three or four, he, Mike, and Donny could stick together and do the bare minimum.

He let his eyes drift around the room, idly watching the other students organise themselves until his gaze unconsciously came to rest on Patton. He sat hunched in his seat a couple of rows ahead, his shoulders pulled up almost to his soft curls of lavender hair. He was staring fixedly down at his desk, but his head shot up with a panicked jolt as the lecturer called his name.

“Patton Knight? If you’re on your own, you can work with Roman’s group. Perhaps they’ll pick up some of your work ethic.”

As Patton turned, Roman met his eyes and found his own panic reflected there. He swallowed. This was going to be a disaster, he just knew it. 

An exaggerated sigh to his left made him turn, and his feeling of dread intensified as he saw the looks on his friends’ faces.

“Great”, Donny muttered sarcastically, “We get the autistic loser. Ter-fucking-riffic.”

*****

They didn’t insult him to his face. Roman tried to be thankful for that small mercy, but it wasn’t easy when every time Mike and Donny deigned to speak to Patton they were so sickly-sweet patronising that it made him wince.

At one point when they weren't looking, he tried to give Patton an encouraging smile, but the lavender-haired man seemed to look right through him, his face showing no acknowledgement, no trace of the friendliness that had always brightened it before. Instead, he hung back from the group, speaking quietly only when spoken to, meekly letting the others make every decision without him. 

He seemed to have shrunk in on himself, his bright, cheerful spark dimmed to a timid ember. And, afraid as he had been of the usual Patton exposing his secrets to the world, Roman found an unexpected loneliness pooling in his chest, along with a leaden sense of guilt. The helpless, joyless expression looked so wrong on the man’s face that Roman couldn’t help feeling protective towards him.

But Mike and Donny were his friends, his squad, and he needed them as much as they needed him if they were all to keep their classmates’ respect. Trying to defend a loser against them would cause more trouble than it was worth, so he kept a bored look on his face and settled for changing the subject whenever the others tried to talk to Patton about anything other than the work.

*****

The class felt much longer than the assigned two hours. When it was finally over, the students filed out into the concourse, some wearily and others with a new burst of enthusiasm now that it was over. Mike and Donny lingered just outside the classroom, trading jokey mocking of Patton.

“Did you see the way he kept fiddling with that stupid cardigan? What the fuck?”

“Can’t he even think for himself? Why did we keep having to tell him what to do?”

“Who cares about that dork?”, Roman interjected, “Are you guys going to the club later?”

They just shrugged and then carried on talking.

Roman grabbed a cup from the nearby water fountain and pretended to focus on getting a drink, but his eyes kept drifting back to the classroom doorway, worried that Patton would hear them when he came out. But the minutes ticked by and he still didn’t emerge. It gnawed at Roman's attention, and when Donny finally suggested they head to lunch, he made an exaggerated show of patting his pockets and announced he must have left his phone in the room.

"You go on ahead", he told them, waving a hand in the general direction of the cafeteria, "I'll catch up with you later." Mike shrugged, and Donny rolled his eyes, but neither of them argued. Roman watched them walk away, then, when he was sure they wouldn't turn around and come back, he stepped through the doorway.

Patton was still in his seat, his head in his hands and his back shuddering with silent sobs. Roman didn’t even think. He crossed the distance between them in an instant and lightly touched the other man’s shoulder. Patton froze, then slowly lowered his hands and looked up. Roman’s heart ached at the sight of his face, flushed and tear-damp, and at the frightened look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” The words bypassed all thought and fell from his lips of their own accord.

Patton shook his head. “Not your fault”, he managed to choke. “You didn’t do anything.”

Roman pulled out the seat beside him and sat down, looking him straight in the eye with fierce intensity. “That’s precisely the _problem!_ I should have _said_ something, _done_ something, but I just let it all happen! I didn’t even _try_ to defend you!”

Patton tensed for a moment as another shudder wrenched through him at the memory, but then he wiped his eyes and attempted a watery smile. “You came back though”, he said hoarsely, barely above a whisper.

“Not good enough!” Roman almost shouted. He took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing more quietly, “I try to model myself on heroes like Prince Namor, yet when faced with the chance to protect someone in need, I stood by and did nothing. And why? Because I was afraid of what people might think.”

“You’re still a hero to me”, Patton told him quietly.

“ _Why?!_ Just because I came back?”

The light that had returned to Patton’s eyes seemed to fade once more. “No one else did”, he pointed out.

“I’m sorry”, mumbled Roman, mentally cursing himself. “Look… I don’t know if you feel like talking about it, especially to me, but if you want to-” He took a deep breath “-I’m here for you.”

Patton blessed him with a tiny smile. “I’d like that”, he said softly.

“Are you sure?”

Patton’s smile grew. “I’m sure. I- I’d like to, as long as I won’t be a burden? The only person I can talk to about things is my housemate, and I don’t like to keep bothering him, so mostly I just smile and pretend everything’s okay.”

Roman frowned. “Is that why you’re always smiling on campus? Even though...” He broke off.

"Even though nobody likes me?" Patton said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it stung Roman to the core. “You can say it, I know what they all think of me. I hear what they whisper behind my back. They think I don't, but I'm not deaf and I'm not as stupid as they think I am. That’s why I always arrive early to lectures, so that I can get a seat before the room fills up. I know no one wants me to sit next to them, so it gets awkward if I arrive with everyone else."

Roman was silent. There was an uncomfortable ache in his chest and he had to fight the urge to put an arm around the other man, to comfort him in some more meaningful way, but he didn’t dare ask if he could.

A small voice at the back of his mind kept trying to remind him that this was _Patton_ , the dork he supposedly didn't even like, but he ignored it. For the first time, the awareness permeated through him that he definitely didn't _dislike_ Patton.

He racked his brain for something to say, but he couldn't think of anything, and he still couldn't shake the clawing guilt that he'd contributed in even a small way to the man's suffering. Before he could find the words, Patton spoke again. 

“I’ve always tried to be friendly, but whatever I say they either ignore it or look at me like I’m crazy and then walk away.” He gave his head a small, helpless shake. “I just wish I knew _why_ , and how I could make them like me.”

Roman looked down at the desk before him. He knew very well that their coursemates saw Patton as childish and silly, with terrible dress sense and a pitiful lack of social awareness. But would telling him that really make him feel better? It was more likely to make things far worse, and Roman didn’t want to take that risk. And besides, now the others had decided that Patton was a target, a worthy victim, even if he changed himself it wouldn’t change their minds.

Still, there was one question burning the edges of his mind.

“Why do you always wear that cardigan around your shoulders?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. “It’s, um, an _unusual_ fashion choice for a student. If you want to keep it with you for when the temperature drops, why not tie it around your waist instead?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Patton smiled happily and flapped the dangling cardigan cuffs with his hands. “I just find it comforting like this, ya know? It’s like getting a big warm hug from someone. I feel safe and secure when I have it on.”

 _Oh. Wow_ , Roman thought. _In that case, there’s **no way** I’m telling him people think it’s ridiculous._

“I see”, he remarked aloud. “Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad it helps you to feel better.”

They sat in awkward but companionable silence until the swell of student voices alerted them to the fact that the lunch break was ending. Patton sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. 

“I have an Iron Age Societies lecture to get to”, he said, standing up. “I’d better go.”

Roman felt a sudden urge to offer to walk him to the lecture room, but he bit it down. While he knew neither Mike nor Donny took that module, there would be plenty of other students there who knew him and would definitely talk if they saw him arrive with Patton.

“You should probably stop off and wash your face first”, he suggested instead. “They’ll be able to see you’ve been crying.”

“Mm”, Patton nodded, “I will. And thank you again. For staying, and for listening.” He smiled at Roman with a warmth that ignited an unexpected glow in the writer’s heart.

“Not at all!” Roman replied with false joviality, hoping the blush he felt suddenly heating his face wasn’t enough to be noticeable. “After all, that’s what friends are for.”


	4. Of Princes and Barbarians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some unnamed characters in Roman’s fic get killed with a sword. It’s not very graphic, but there is a brief mention of blood.

Roman trudged slowly home, grateful he had no more classes for the rest of the day. His head throbbed from the emotional strain of the morning and his whole body ached with tension. 

Wearily he climbed the stairs to his flat and unlocked the door, then paused as he caught the murmur of voices filtering through from the living room beyond. Logan’s measured tones alternated with Virgil’s soft Welsh lilt, and his heart sank. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough already.

He took a long, slow breath, mentally slipping on his brash, confident persona. Too bad the mask slipped away as soon as he stepped into the room and locked eyes with Virgil, standing near the door. He felt his smile fade to nothing as his mind sought desperately for a witty greeting and failed to find one.

“You okay there, Princey?”

The question brought him back to reality with a jolt, and he fired back a quick “I’m fine” that came out more harshly than he intended.

Virgil raised his eyebrows. “No bragging, no insults, no banter? Doesn’t sound like you’re fine.”

Roman drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. “I’ll have you know I am absolutely _magnificent_ , Roald Dull!” he retorted.

For a split second a glare shot across Virgil’s face, but then he shrugged dismissively. “You know what? I was just leaving anyway. If you’re up to talking about whatever’s wrong, try Logan, he gives good advice.” He zipped up his hoodie, signed “I love you” to Logan in BSL, and then was gone without a backward glance.

Logan watched him go with an uncharacteristically soft, affectionate expression, which shifted seamlessly to a frown as he turned to Roman. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” he asked.

Roman hesitated. On the one hand, he very much _did not_ want to discuss any of the things currently bothering him, but on the other, he also didn't want to be alone right now. The walk home had been bad enough, with the memories of Patton's defeated slump and tear-stained face etched in his mind’s eye. He dreaded the thought of going and sitting in his room where they could consume him.

Perhaps a third option would be the best one. He leaned heavily on the back of the sofa, letting it take some of the weight off his feet, and tilted his head down to look at Logan.

“I’ll be okay”, he said vaguely. “But tell me, how are things going with you and Virgil? He seems to be over here every day now.”

A satisfied smile spread over Logan’s face. “Indeed”, he said, “Our relationship has been proceeding in a highly favourable manner, with a marked increase in both our emotional intimacy and frequency of copulation.”

Roman stood up abruptly, his eyes wide as he tried to banish any mental images that dared try to form. “I’m going to go now”, he managed to choke out. “Got some writing to do. See you!”

“I apologise, was that, uh, ‘TMI’?” he heard Logan ask, but he ignored the question and flung himself into his room, shutting the door behind him.

He leaned back against it for a moment, focusing on his breathing as he composed himself. _Distraction, distraction, think of a distraction..._ His eyes fell on his bookshelf, and a glimmer of light broke through the darkness in his mind. He remembered the way Patton’s eyes had shone as they’d discussed _Dragon Witch Chronicles_ together. Stories had the power to make the world brighter.

He sat down at his desk, opened his notebook, and turned his attention to thinking of ideas. But his thoughts kept fighting their way back to Patton – to his bright smile, his cheerful demeanour, and the way both had been stolen from him by those two– Roman clenched his jaw and scowled at the memory –those two _barbarians._

Now _there_ was an idea.

He let his thoughts flow onto the paper, scribbling lines out frequently at first as he tried to get the wording right. As the scene took shape in his mind, they came more easily, more naturally, and he let the story begin telling itself.

~~*~~

> It was a glorious day, the sun blazing down from a cloudless azure sky and bringing resplendent colour to the landscape all around. Prince Tonapt smiled contentedly, relishing both the warmth and the slight hint of a breeze that carried the whispers of distant birdsong to his sensitive cat-like ears.
> 
> Not that he listened carefully, preferring instead to bask lazily in the ambience of the day as the white horse beneath him made its leisurely way along the country lane. In the far distance, he could just make out the castle he was headed for, standing like a protective guardian over the city of Cademspin. He watched it grow gradually closer, aware of the way his heart rate increased as the distance diminished. 
> 
> He let his mind drift into happy anticipation, daydreaming of what might happen when he got there. Tea in the royal garden perhaps, talking for hours with Prince Namor as they watched the sun set and the stars appear.
> 
> He was so caught up in this fantasy that he failed to notice unnatural rustlings in the bushes just ahead, and before he realised what was happening, two barbarians had leapt out and grabbed both him and his horse.
> 
> He squeaked in alarm, then twisted his head and hissed at the man pinning his arms uncomfortably behind his back. But the barbarian was unperturbed, merely yanking harder and making him gasp in pain.
> 
> *****
> 
> Namor had sneaked away from the castle, the prospect of a day of listening to reports with his parents making him crave the freedom of the forest. He was puzzled when he found a makeshift campsite in a small clearing, but his confusion quickly turned to alarm when he spotted the insignia of the enemy Skaredid kingdom on a discarded travel bag.
> 
> What business could such a small enemy party have in Cademspin’s forest? Nothing good, that was for sure. He found himself a spot out of sight to watch from, and when the two barbarians emerged, well-armed, and began to move off, he followed them at a safe distance.
> 
> He lurked silently as he watched them take up position at the edge of the forest, beside the grassy lane that ran to Cademspin. Easing his way closer, he managed to pick up fragments of their hushed conversation.
> 
> “...you sure he’s gonna be here?”
> 
> “We got the signal, didn’t we? He set out...”
> 
> “Crazy… ...he know princes aren’t safe out alone in these parts?”
> 
> “Who knows what freaks like him...”
> 
> Namor froze. Were they waiting for him? No, that didn’t make sense. But what other prince could be travelling alone along the trail this morning? His skin prickled with goosebumps as his feeling of unease grew stronger.
> 
> The conversation stopped abruptly, and Namor barely had time to register the muffled sound of hooves on grass before the men erupted from their hiding place and the horse whinnied in fear as it was grabbed and its rider hauled down.
> 
> Namor slipped quickly closer, his cold anger at the ambush turning to blazing fury as he recognised the victim. It took everything he had not to launch himself immediately at the barbarians, but he forced himself to wait for the perfect moment, terrified of what harm might befall Tonapt if they saw him coming and struck before he could.
> 
> While they were turned away, their attention focused on their prey, he stepped up behind the one holding the horse. It pained him, both as a prince and a knight trained in chivalry, to cut the man down from behind, but he couldn’t risk alerting the one currently grappling with Tonapt. The body dropped silently to the ground, the victim caught too off-guard to even cry out as he fell.
> 
> Namor stroked the horse, murmuring soothing words as softly as he could and keeping it between him and the others. When he was sure it would stay put, he crept up behind the second barbarian, holding his sword ready.
> 
> The man laughed cruelly as he twisted Tonapt’s arm, but the sound cut off in a choked gasp and his grip slipped away as he crumpled lifeless to the ground. 
> 
> Tonapt turned, his green eyes wide with a terror that dissipated when he took in Namor standing there, a serious but calm expression on his face as he wiped the blood from his sword. Tonapt’s gaze wandered to where his horse stood nearby, thankfully unharmed, and then beyond to where the body of the second barbarian lay in a spreading pool of blood.
> 
> He shuddered and looked quickly back to Namor, who sheathed his sword in one smooth motion and then gave him a dazzling smile. Tonapt blushed brightly and ran a hand self-consciously through his hair.
> 
> Namor’s eyes followed the motion irresistibly, his smile melting to a softer expression as he took a step forward towards the other prince, who shyly opened his arms to meet him. He wrapped his own arms protectively around the still-trembling form, feeling the shaking subside as Tonapt finally felt safe and secure. Namor buried his face in his soft hair, letting the fire in his heart settle to a warm glow as he breathed in the scent that was at once exotic and yet so familiar.
> 
> “I’m so glad I was here”, he murmured. “I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d taken you.”
> 
> “You’d have found a way to get me back”, he heard Tonapt reply, and he tightened his embrace.
> 
> “That’s right”, he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “Whatever happens, I will always protect you.”

~~*~~

Roman put down his pen and sighed with relief. He had written something – short, but nevertheless a complete story. How long had it been since he’d managed that? It must be at least a few months.

He read through it slowly and carefully, watching the scene play out in his mind in order to spot any inconsistencies. Then he read it a few more times, altering the wording and tweaking syntax until it felt somehow _right._

Sure, there were lingering questions about the bandits’ motivations and what Namor had been doing in the area, but he really didn’t have the energy to attempt anything longer. Instead, he typed it up, posted it with a vague yet heartfelt apology for the lack of recent updates, and then switched off his laptop for the night.

Time to sleep, or rather, time to lie awake in bed for hours trying not to wonder if anyone would like his post. Or to let his mind replay a compilation of the worst moments from his day. Or to stare into the gaping abyss he saw whenever he tried to imagine his future.

And absolutely not to think of Patton’s smile, and the confusing giddiness that even the memory of it made him feel.


	5. The Jester at the Court of Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing to talk to Patton in private, Roman invites him to his favourite cafe. But the presence of Patton’s barista friend Remy threatens to halt their fledgeling relationship in its tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Panic attack, jealousy

Roman woke the next morning feeling more positive. He had written something, right? Surely, surely that meant his block must be easing and he could do it again tonight. First, though, he should really make use of this improved mindset to get some studying done. He couldn’t afford to fall any further behind with his course.

He settled down to study, a frown of pained concentration etched across his forehead as he pushed through a chapter of the textbook. He would never understand how Logan could read this kind of thing for pleasure…

He knew whatever knowledge he absorbed would dissolve from his brain as soon as he took his eyes from the page, but he managed to take decent notes on what he assumed were the essential points to memorise. With a sigh of relief, he closed the book and filed his notes away. It was time to reward himself with something more fun!

He grabbed some sandwiches from the kitchen and put on a Disney compilation, humming along with gusto as he browsed through what he’d missed overnight on social media. A nagging mental voice he’d woken up with reminded him that he still didn't know if anyone had reacted to his fic, and at last he gave in to the temptation. With a slightly trembling hand, he opened his list of notifications and scanned down it. Three comments! Not a runaway hit, but not bad at all! Now he just had to hope they were good ones...

_GlowballWarning: I ship them so freaking hard!_

“Same”, Roman murmured. “They have so much in common, it’s crazy they haven’t realised it yet.”

_BristolCityForever: Welcome back, dude, good to see you back on form!_

He smiled. It was good to be back, even if he didn’t personally think he was on form at all. His eyes drifted down to the third and final comment, and a fizzing feeling of happiness bubbled up in his chest.

_CaramelCat: Thank you so much for posting this. I had a terrible day, but this cheered me up and make me feel better about things. It’s really cute, too! <3_

Beaming giddily, Roman typed a reply.

_I'm delighted that you enjoyed it and found it helpful. To be perfectly honest, I'd had a bad day myself and it was something in the manner of a vent fic, so knowing someone else gained comfort from it helps me to feel I’ve drawn something positive from that regrettable experience._

_I hope today goes much better for you :)_

He was rereading the comment, an affectionate smile on his face, when his phone buzzed to remind him he had the final lecture of the week to get to. He sighed deeply, shutting down his laptop and rubbing his face with his hands. Time to put the mask back on so that no one would realise everyone’s favourite Roman was really a fanfic-writing nerd.

*****

The warmth in his chest that the comments had brought him was doused with ice the moment he reached the lecture hall and came face to face with Mike and Donny. He felt a sudden rush of cold fury, but forced it down and plastered on a smile. Perhaps it was a little forced and didn’t reach his eyes, but they showed no sign of having noticed.

They walked through the doorway together, and Roman’s eyes were drawn inescapably to where Patton sat alone at the far end of a row. For a moment their eyes met and he felt his rictus grin melt into something softer and more genuine. Patton smiled back, subtly but unmistakably, then went back to the book he’d been reading. It seemed he was content for their friendship to be something quiet and low-key, kept just between the two of them.

Roman wondered if he felt the same. Sitting with his old friends, two rows in front of Patton, made him feel strangely _wrong_ , like a book placed upside-down on a shelf. Tension began to seep back into his muscles, making them ache once more, and he became hyper-aware of every sound and movement in the hall around him.

The lecture was on Medieval History – usually Roman’s favourite module of the course – but today he couldn’t focus. Just keeping his head upright made him feel giddy, as though it were filled with water that swirled and sloshed around his skull with every movement he made. He squinted up at the board, trying to focus on the series of PowerPoint slides projected there, but he couldn’t seem to take any of it in.

When it was over, he filed out of the lecture hall keeping a smile plastered on his face and laughing whenever his friends did. He was struggling to concentrate on what they were saying, but the last thing he wanted was for them to notice anything unusual in his behaviour.

“You coming out later?” Mike asked him suddenly.

Roman grinned. "Sorry guys, but I have big plans for tonight and they don't include you." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and they laughed. 

He was saved from any further questions by his phone buzzing. A text from an unknown number. Well, that was odd, but he’d take the excuse.

“Sorry lads, gotta go”, he told them, giving a quick wave and striding away until he was out of sight. Then he leant against a wall, opened the message and read it.

_Hi Roman! You seemed kind of stressed and upset in the lecture, so I’m wondering if you’re okay? Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help! - Patton_

It was like a punch to the gut. Had his acting really been so bad that Patton of all people had noticed?

He typed a quick _I’m fine, don’t worry_ , but then deleted it as a wave of guilt engulfed him. Now they were sort-of-friends he should at least give Patton the courtesy of an honest response. And besides, Roman wanted to know just how obvious his discomfort had been. If Patton had noticed, who knew who else might have?

So instead, he sent a different message: _Meet me in half an hour at the Costa on Sanders Street. We need to talk_

*****

Unlike the big Costa near the campus, the one on Sanders Street was cosy and compact, with comfortable sofas and landscape paintings on the walls. Most students wouldn’t be seen dead there, which was why Roman had made it his writing refuge away from everyday life – and also why he’d chosen it as the best place to speak privately to Patton.

He was more than a little perturbed, therefore, when he arrived to find the man already inside, chatting with great familiarity to one of the baristas, who was leaning idly on the service counter sipping a peach iced tea.

“Roman!” Patton cried, his face lighting up when he saw him enter. Roman gave him a tight smile, then turned to the barista.

“I’ll have a Mango and Passionfruit cooler”, he said.

“Sure thing, gurl”, the man replied. “How about you, Pat? You want the usual?”

Patton beamed at him and nodded. “Yes, please!”

“One medium Salted Caramel Crunch Frostino, no coffee, no cream, coming right up, babe! Things are pretty light here right now, so you gurls sit down and I’ll bring your drinks to your table when they’re done.”

He winked flirtatiously at Patton as he turned away, and a tendril of something dark and ugly sprouted in Roman’s chest. He ignored it, instead leading the way to a corner table and sitting down. Patton took a seat at right angles to him, sitting on his hands to keep them from fidgeting, and chewing his lip as he waited.

Roman pretended to watch their drinks being prepared, but in truth, he kept looking at Patton out of the corner of his eye. The other man kept stealing quick glances at him in turn, a nervous little smile on his face. 

At last, Roman could stand the awkward silence no longer. “You’ve been here before, I take it?” he asked.

“Oh yes! I come to this place all the time! I was so excited when you invited me here!” Patton radiated enthusiasm, and despite his tension Roman found the corners of his own mouth twisting upwards into a smile.

“We must have missed each other somehow”, he remarked. “I’m quite a regular here myself, but I've never seen you." 

_If I had, I’d have walked out and never come back_ , he thought, but for the first time he felt glad that they were here together. There was something contagious about Patton’s joy that he couldn’t help but feel drawn to, despite his misgivings about spending time with him.

Before either of them could say more, the barista arrived with their drinks. He grinned broadly at Patton as he set down his glass. “Your Salted Caramel Frostino, with extra sprinkles for my favourite customer!”

He winked again over the top of his sunglasses and Roman narrowed his eyes, his tension returning as the barista turned and set down his fruit cooler.

“Haven’t seen you here for a couple of weeks, Shakespeare”, the man commented. “We thought maybe you’d, like, ditched us and found yourself a new hangout.”

“Er, not exactly...” Roman swallowed, the action rendered almost painful by the sharply increasing tension in his neck and shoulders.

“Mm…?” The barista raised an eyebrow. “Too busy getting yourself a new boyfriend, by the looks of it! So, Pat, is this the guy you were telling me you have a crush on? Nice job finally snagging a date with him!”

Patton flushed bright scarlet and flapped his hands at the man. “Remy!” he wailed, “That’s not what this is! And that was meant to be a secret, don’t tell everyone!”

“This is _not_ a date”, Roman added coldly. “Patton and I just happen to be doing the same course, and we decided to meet here after lectures to discuss something.”

Remy frowned at him. “Wait, you mean to say you’re doing History like Patton? Dang, gurl, I kinda always assumed you did English, ya know? What with the way you’re always scribbling away in that notebook of yours.”

Roman fought down the panic rising rapidly within him. “That’s just my own writing”, he admitted. “It’s extracurricular.” He leaned back in his seat, bringing his palms together in front of his face. _I do **not** want to talk about this_ , he mentally screamed at the man.

To his surprise and relief, Patton chose that moment to change the subject. “So, Remy”, he said cheerfully, “How have you been? I remember last time we spoke you had a date coming up. How did it go?”

Remy threw back his head and groaned theatrically. “Ugh, gurl, do _not_ remind me”, he whined. “The guy was a hottie, but he turned out to be, like, a total _jerk_. He started ranting on about there being only two genders, so I poured my venti Soy Double Java Chip Frappuccino over him and sashayed on outta there.”

Patton’s face fell. “Aww, that’s too bad”, he said, giving Remy’s arm a sympathetic pat. “But he obviously didn’t deserve you. You’ll find someone better, I promise!”

Remy shrugged. “The guy wore snakeskin boots and took a Costa employee to Starbucks. I shoulda known he'd be trouble." He grinned suddenly at Patton. “I need to get myself a cute little sweetheart like you”, he added with another wink.

Patton giggled and blushed again, making Roman wonder if _Remy_ was his mystery crush. The darkness in his chest coiled around his heart and _squeezed_ , and he directed a poisonous glare at the back of the barista’s head. He generally considered himself a sucker for romance, but for some reason this affectionate banter was grating on his nerves.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, startling himself when his voice came out as a low growl.

The barista laughed, utterly unfazed. “No ma’am, but don’t you fret, I can take a hint! I’ll leave you gurls to your totally-not-a-date!” He threw Patton another playful wink, then headed back to the service counter with Roman glaring after him.

“Are you okay”, asked Patton with concern, as soon as the two of them were alone.

Roman felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry”, he replied, “I don’t know what came over me. But I asked you here to talk to me, not the staff, and I don’t want to get sidetracked and miss the opportunity.”

Patton’s face lit up with another beaming smile, and Roman felt suddenly giddy. _He is a dork and I am not desperate_ , he told himself firmly, but for the first time he found himself noticing what a delicious shade of caramel the man’s eyes were behind those ridiculous glasses.

“I’m sorry if Remy made you uncomfortable”, Patton said consolingly, “He’s very sweet, but for a coffee-lover he doesn’t have much of a filter!” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his face cupped between his palms and his full attention fixed on Roman. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Roman swallowed hard, trying to recall the reason for the meeting through his swirling haze of emotions. “Well… Oh yes, you said in your text that I seemed to be feeling down. What made you think that?”

"Oh, that's easy!" exclaimed Patton. "I was sitting in the row behind you, and I could see you were all hunched up in your seat, with your shoulders almost to your ears and your arms pulled in close to your sides. And you normally pay more attention in Medieval History - it's easy to tell it's your favourite - but today you kept fidgeting and fiddling with your pen.

Roman winced. “Do you think anyone else noticed?” he asked.

Patton shrugged. “Well I don’t know, but it’s surprising what people miss seeing. And the others didn’t seem to be watching you very closely.”

“And you were?” The words were out before he had time to consider their implication.

Patton turned pink and put his fist up to his mouth. “I’ve learned to pay attention to people”, he mumbled, suddenly avoiding Roman’s eyes. “And I was sitting almost directly behind you, so I just happened to see.”

He looked up cautiously through his eyelashes at Roman, who looked away quickly, his heart beating faster than he cared to admit. He tried to focus instead on sipping his bright orange drink. The intensity of the fruit flavour managed to cut through his dulled sense of taste, while the icy cold helped numb the strange fizzing, tingling pain in his chest.

When he looked up again, Patton had turned away and was watching the staff over the top of his own drink as they prepared other customers’ orders.

Watching Remy, probably.

Roman narrowed his eyes as the barista laughed loudly at a comment by one of his colleagues. He’d been on shifts before when Roman had been here, and he’d always seemed likeable enough, but now everything about him was somehow infuriating, from his American accent to his apparent inability to stop sipping his drink as he worked.

And of course, he glanced over and saw both of them looking his way. He gave them a cocky salute, then, as soon as the queue of new customers had been served, he made his way back over to their table, grinning broadly.

“Hey, gurls!” he said. “Roman, honey, I get that I’m hot, but, like, shouldn’t your eyes be on your cute boyfriend here?” He ruffled a hand affectionately through Patton’s lavender hair, and the man blushed.

Roman’s patience, stretched thinner with each word Remy had spoken since he’d arrived, finally _snapped_. He pushed away what was left of his drink and stood up abruptly, glaring at the barista with utter loathing.

“Patton is _not_ my boyfriend and _never_ will be”, he snarled, then turned and stalked out.

*****

He took the long way home, needing to walk off his anger and frustration before he felt able to face anyone. To his relief, when he opened the door he found Logan alone for once, working on his laptop in the communal living room.

“Hi, Logan. No Virgil today?” he remarked.

Logan glanced up briefly, then resumed typing. “Greetings, Roman. Virgil left approximately five minutes ago after receiving a phone call from his housemate, who just had his heart broken by someone he harbours romantic feelings for. Virgil went home to comfort him. Apparently, they plan to eat an excessive quantity of raspberry ripple ice cream and blast Pet Shop Boys hits at a volume that seems highly likely to disturb their neighbours."

Roman grunted, grabbing a drink from the fridge and then dropping onto the sofa beside Logan with a flump. Logan glanced sideways at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing”, Roman snapped with more force than he’d intended. He winced, and Logan raised both eyebrows.

“Falsehood. Your body language, tone, and uncharacteristic reluctance to talk all indicate a negative emotional state.”

Roman snorted. “Nerd.”

The hint of a smile played over Logan’s lips. “You keep using that word as an insult”, he observed. “I don’t think you realise what a compliment it is.”

A short, sputtering laugh escaped Roman despite his tension, and his expression softened as he leaned back against the sofa. “I’ve had a bad day, that’s all. I need to de-stress for a while.”

"Hmm." Logan turned back to his laptop but kept his hands still. "You are under no obligation to tell me anything, but I'm willing to listen if you need me to."

Roman hesitated. A part of him wanted to talk, wanted desperately to vent all his fears and frustrations, but he hated the thought of showing weakness even to Logan. So instead he shook his head, threw away his empty drink can, and headed into his room to try to write.

*****

The page stared back, intimidatingly empty, and Roman flexed his fingers. What stories should he fill this one with? What tales of love, or loss, or heroism? He closed his eyes and picked up his pen, waiting for images to form in his mind, waiting to mould them into words, to build those words into sentences and up into scenes.

He saw nothing but the backs of his eyelids.

He swallowed down a rising tide of panic and shook his head, wincing slightly at the creak of his neck muscles. Switching on his writing playlist, he closed his eyes once more and tried to let the soft music soak relaxation down into his bones. He could do this, if he could just find the flicker of inspiration needed to start writing.

_Absorb the music, feel the swell of the crescendo and the brightness of the notes. What images does it conjure?_

_Oh come **on** , there must be something!_

Nothing.

Back to writing nothing and being able to write nothing. Back to making no progress and having nothing to show for all his stress. If he thought about it much more, he felt his brain would cleave in two under the strain, a jagged line of pain splitting his skull from temple to temple.

Tendrils of panic began to claw at him, his breathing becoming shallower as he racked his brain for an idea, _any_ idea he could use. If he didn’t make progress with this story soon, his readers would abandon him. If he were seen getting too close to Patton, his other friends would abandon him. If he didn’t get this accursed History degree, even his parents might-

He was trembling now, the fear clouding his mind like thick smoke and this throat clenching so tightly it threatened to choke him. He was losing his creativity, losing everything that meant anything. When he tried to imagine the future, all he saw was a gaping black emptiness looming ahead. He couldn’t go on this way, couldn’t continue living with the kind of pressure that should create diamonds and yet produced only coal – or worse, nothing at all.

He hated to admit it, but this wasn’t a problem he was going to be able to solve alone. Much as it wounded his ego, he would have to ask Logan for help.


	6. Into the Dragon’s Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman finally seeks help from Logan, who advises him to visit Virgil. But Virgil’s relaxation techniques bring unwanted emotions to the surface, driving Roman to breaking point.
> 
> However, it might just be Virgil’s housemate whose help he really needs...

“Looogaaan!” Roman wailed, “What should I _do_?!”

Logan closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, forcing his irritation away with the exhaled air. “What should you do about _what_ , Roman?” he asked. “If you want my help, you must clearly explain the problem you wish me to solve.”

Roman flopped down dramatically onto the shared sofa beside him, and Logan winced, taking his fingers from his laptop keyboard and twisting around in his seat to face his housemate. 

Roman gave him a forlorn pout. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” he asked.

Logan sighed, but closed his laptop and put it onto the coffee table out of the way. “You are always interrupting”, he said. “However, experience has taught me that the sooner I give you the attention you desire and solve your latest conundrum, the sooner I can resume my work in peace.”

Roman groaned and rested his head against the sofa’s high back. “Am I really _that_ unbearable?” he asked, his voice tight and strained.

Logan’s expression softened. “Far from it”, he admitted. "While your loudness and frequent theatrics may disqualify you from my image of the perfect housemate, you by no means exceed my capacity for toleration. And on the positive side, you always pay your share of the rent on time, and you don't object to my having a boyfriend.”

Roman grimaced. “My only objection to _that_ is that _you_ somehow have one and I don’t.”

“Is that the problem you want me to solve today? Because I can think of a few personality traits that could be holding you back from-”

“I can get a boyfriend myself!” Roman cut in, then winced and gingerly rubbed the back of his neck.

“In that case, precisely what is the nature of the dilemma you wish me to solve?” Logan asked patiently.

Roman looked away, taking a deep breath and bracing himself to say the words aloud. To put them out into the world for someone else to hear, and potentially mock. Not that Logan was likely to do that, but Roman could all too easily imagine how it would feel. 

...Although apparently that was all it could currently imagine, which brought him back to the reason he’d sought Logan’s help in the first place. He squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out the horrible truth:

“I can’t write!”

Silence. After as long a moment as he could endure, he cracked open one eye and risked a look at his housemate.

Logan was leaning forward, carefully examining Roman, who snapped both eyes wide open and felt his face heat up.

“What are you looking at?!”

Logan sat back and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I see no physical issues”, he said. “No hand or arm injuries and no evidence of cerebral trauma. What precisely is preventing you from writing?”

Roman groaned. Were all computational mathematics students this exasperatingly literal-minded?

“I have no _inspiration_! No _ideas_!” he complained. “Creativity doesn’t happen when you _force_ it – it’s not something that can be _squeezed_ out of you under pressure, like toothpaste from a tube. Creativity is a fickle lover, who must be wooed and won with a careful balance of thought, attention, flexibility, and playfulness!”

He was standing on the sofa now, gesticulating wildly as he gave vent to his frustrations.

Logan, used to his friend’s dramatic spirit, simply sighed and rolled his eyes. “Words are your tools, so use them”, he said. “Put in some real effort, rather than whining about abstract concepts like inspiration.”

Roman shook his head as he sat back down. “Pens, paper, keyboard, _those_ are my tools”, he explained. “Words are the raw materials I paint into pictures and sculpt into stories. The greatest paintbrushes and canvas aren’t enough to create a masterpiece; that takes _skill_ and _imagination_.” He sighed. “And imagination is something I currently lack.

“Hmm.” Logan frowned. “Would I be correct in supposing the problem is psychological? You have been unusually tense, which could be impeding your creative abilities.”

Roman shrugged. “Could be. I must confess I’m not feeling particularly fabulous right now. Easing the knots in my muscles might help to ease the knot in my mind.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed. In that case, I believe it would behove us to enlist the help of Virgil.”

Roman froze. “Wait, Virgil as in your boyfriend? But he hates me!”

“And whose fault is that?” Logan asked sternly, frowning over his glasses.

Roman looked down sulkily and fiddled with his sleeve. “He started it”, he grumbled. “The first time we met, he insulted me.”

“He insulted bad fanfiction!”

“Precisely!”

Logan gave him a look. “Do you write bad fanfiction?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean I hope not, but for all I know I might!”

Logan sighed. “I see. In any case, if you’re willing to listen to him, I believe he may be able to offer you advice on relaxation techniques. I’ll drive you to his flat, but please, leave your ego at home.”

*****

The journey was nothing by car. After a few minutes of gazing through his hazy reflection at the darkness beyond the window, Roman was jolted from his reverie by Logan parking before a concrete building that loomed out of the night.

“This is the place”, Logan told him, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car.

“Not exactly the Ritz”, commented Roman as he followed. Funny that it looked so similar to Patton’s building. “Whoever designed these student places clearly had no creative flare.”

“Creativity costs money”, Logan remarked dismissively, as he punched in the entry code and pushed open the door. “If the appearance offends you that much, you’re welcome to stay out here all night.”

Roman caught the door with a grimace and stepped inside, knowing Logan well enough to realise he meant it. Besides, perhaps talking to Virgil wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they'd get on better this time, and he'd offer helpful suggestions, and Roman would begin to feel better.

Miracles had to happen sometimes, right?

*****

Virgil’s flat was more traditionally decorated than Roman had expected. In fact, he rather approved of the bright mix of colours and the comfortable-looking furniture, which he could only assume was thanks to Virgil’s housemate rather than the emo himself.

The large sofa was covered with a soft purple throw, and a pair of adult colouring books sat on the coffee table before it. Roman assumed the one on _Gothic Dreamscapes_ was Virgil’s, which meant that _Adorable Fantasy Creatures_ must be his friend’s. From the coloured pencils scattered all around them, it looked like the two been colouring together before he and Logan had arrived. Hadn’t Logan said something about his housemate just having had his heart broken? Maybe they’d been doing it to help comfort him.

He waited, trying not to fidget while Logan took Virgil aside, explaining Roman’s problem to him in hushed tones and with occasional signing. Roman kept his mouth shut, wishing he knew what they were saying, and mentally repeating to himself to _be nice, you need his help_.

At first, Virgil seemed wary and kept throwing suspicious glances his way. But whatever Logan said appeared to persuade him, and after a few minutes he shrugged and relented. As Logan settled down with his laptop to get some work done, Roman followed the other man to his room and stepped cautiously inside.

He peered around him, his eyes adjusting slowly to the significantly dimmer lighting of Virgil’s room. Even in the gloom, it was clear that the dominant colour was black. Black desk, black chair, black bookcase, and a black duvet with a pattern of constellations that might be due to Logan’s influence. The only illumination came from strings of fairy lights and a few black candles dotted around.

“Well, this is...atmospheric”, he remarked, his voice coming out slightly shriller than usual. “It shows impressive commitment to your aesthet- eek!” He broke off with a hastily-suppressed squeal as his gaze fell on a disturbingly-realistic skeleton hanging in a shadowy corner. He swallowed hard, his imagination already throwing him disturbing suggestions that it could be the remains of some former enemy of Virgil’s. He looked quickly away, searching for something to distract him.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could make out the creepily unsettling artworks on the walls and the spider patterns on the curtains – not to mention the Halloween cobweb decorations draped over the furniture. He suppressed a shudder. Spiders made him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to let Virgil know that.

Every available work surface was stained with spots and splashes of paint, while the paint pots, pallets, pencils, and numerous tools Roman couldn’t name were scattered all around. Sketchbooks leaned against the side of the desk, and in the far corner, an easel held a canvas on which a rough initial sketch of a man’s face had been drawn. Something in the curve of the smile and the fluffiness of the hair brought a vivid image of Patton to Roman’s mind, and his heart ached. He’d probably ruined everything there. Would Patton even want to be friends with him now, after the way he had acted?

He turned sadly away and caught Virgil watching him, an indecipherable expression on his face. Roman shook away his melancholy and forced his expression back to neutral.

“So, what are we going to do?” he asked loudly, trying to take confidence from the sound of his own voice.

“Well, different relaxation techniques help different people, so I dunno if what works for me will suit you, but we can try some basic stuff and take it from there?” Virgil replied. “But for it to work, it’d help if you know what’s causing the problem in the first place. Do you know why you’re so stressed?”

Roman looked at him with distrust, and he sighed. 

“Look, you and me? We’re like oil and water. I don’t like you much and I probably never will, but I wouldn’t wish a creative block on my worst enemy.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. He just couldn’t help turning combative when he was around the art student. “So am I your worst enemy?” he asked.

Virgil snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, you don’t even make the top ten.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed as his competitive spirit kicked up a notch. Damn it, if he couldn’t be the best, he’d settle for the worst. Mediocrity was _not_ an option.”

“So who _is_ your worst enemy?” he asked, pushing up his chin to overcome their height similarity, and looking down his nose at the other man.

Virgil raised his eyebrows, unperturbed. “ _I_ am”, he said simply. “So good luck taking over that position, when I have to put up with myself for twenty-four hours a day. Look, I’m willing to help you out here, but I can’t unless you cooperate with me, okay?”

“Fine, I suppose”, Roman reluctantly conceded.

“Okay, so do you know what’s made you so stressed?”

Roman looked askance. _I hate my course, I hate most of my so-called friends, I might have a slight crush on Patton but I’ve probably driven him away, my whole life is a piece of..._

“I have no idea”, he said aloud.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

Roman ran a hand nervously through his hair. “I’ve had writer’s block before”, he confessed, “But never for as long as this. It’s been months now.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s similar to the problem I get?” he suggested. “You’re afraid what you write won’t be good enough, so your brain throws up blocks to stop that from happening. Can’t write a bad story if you never write one.”

Something chimed in Roman’s heart. It wasn’t the whole of the problem, he could see that, but…

_If I never post a story, no one will ever be disillusioned by it. I can pretend that I'm a good writer forever, because no one will see me write anything bad._

He swallowed. “That...could be part of it”, he admitted. “But how do I relax and get past the block?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “If you like, we can start by trying what helps me? It's not exactly formal meditation, ‘cause calling it that and trying to follow the rules stresses me out, but I use kinda the same principles to take time out for myself and chill." 

Roman eyed him uncertainly. “You really find that helps?”

Virgil shrugged. “It strips away the noise in my head”, he said. “Helps me to see what’s important.” For a brief moment his eyes flickered across to a small painting on the wall above his bed, and when Roman followed his gaze he realised it was a portrait of Logan. It seemed Virgil had real skill at capturing likenesses when he wasn’t creating twisted fantasy worlds of horror.

He took a deep breath and then nodded firmly. “Okay, let’s try it.”

Virgil picked up a couple of spare pillows from his bed and dropped them onto a clear patch of floor. “Sit down”, he instructed, gesturing to one of them as he grabbed his laptop from his desk. “I’m gonna queue up the playlist I use.”

He sat down on the free pillow, and Roman leaned across to peer curiously over his shoulder as he found the right music.

“Tchaikovsky? Really?” he commented. “I never saw you as the classical music type.”

Virgil glared at him. “Logan played me some of his favourites and got me into it, okay? And stuff with lyrics is too distracting when I need to clear my head.”

Roman shrugged. “Then I shall defer to your combined judgement”, he said as the music began. “So, what happens next?”

"Well, first of all, you've gotta sit up straight, or else you're just gonna get sleepy." 

“I’m too gay for this”, Roman grumbled, but he pulled up out of his tired slouch and looked expectantly at Virgil, awaiting further instructions.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Chill, Princey”, he said, “I’m sure even you can do it if you try. Now, close your eyes and get into a rhythm of slow, deep breaths. Let your mind wander, but if you catch yourself getting tense, let go of whatever thought is causing it and focus back on the music and your breathing until you’re calm again.”

Roman waited for him to say more, but nothing came, and when the History student cracked open one eye to look, he realised his relaxation mentor had already settled into his own peaceful state.

_Huh. I suppose I’ll just have to start this, then._

He closed both eyes again and slowed his breathing, freeing his mind to wander where it may.

Virgil’s room smelled of acrylic paint and rebellion, and as Roman let it settle over him he wondered what it must feel like to live on the fringe of society, to care more about individuality and authenticity than fitting in with the crowd. 

_Being an outcast sounds like a living nightmare. No wonder he loses his speech sometimes and needs to find ways to help himself relax._

He shifted uncomfortably. The longer he sat, the less padding the pillow seemed to provide against the hardwood floor below.

_I wonder if Patton ever feels that way. Perhaps he does something like this to help him cope with… Well, to help him cope._

With his eyes closed, the memory was instantly vivid in his mind.

_“You’re still a hero to me.”_

_“Why?! Just because I came back?”_

_“No one else did.”_

The pang he’d felt at seeing the bleakness in those soft eyes shot through his chest again. Patton wasn’t a misanthrope like Virgil. He always tried to be friendly and strike up conversations, and when he found someone who responded to that, he came to life.

_How lonely must he be, to put up with someone who won’t even acknowledge him when anyone else is around?_

_How lonely must **I** be, to push him aside and put up with friends I don’t even like, simply out of fear of being alone?_

_Wait, I’m lonely?_

The realisation hit like a fist to the solar plexus and his eyes pricked with hot tears, but he refused to let himself cry in front of Virgil. Instead, he turned his focus back to the music, following the notes as they danced, weaving around each other in a flowing waltz. In a way, it wasn't so different from the Studio Ghibli soundtracks that had often helped to inspire his writing.

He’d written quite a few fanfics in his first year, and had still managed to scrape a 2:1 in the end of year exams. His parents had been satisfied with that, and meanwhile he’d gone to every party and non-nerdy social event he could, successfully establishing a reputation for himself as cool, confident, and popular.

But then the second year had started, and suddenly he was struggling. There was so much to learn, so much to memorise, and so little of it that appealed to him at all. He was bored and couldn’t focus, and his grades began to reflect that.

His carefully-balanced life had come crashing down. There was no way he could get his studies back on track and still keep up with both his writing and his socialising, so he tried to find ways to prioritise the writing without letting his reputation slip.

He continued accepting every invitation he got. He made sure to show up, be seen, be _noticed_ , and then as soon as everyone was distracted he slipped away home to write. If anyone asked where he’d got to, he made up a story about a cute guy, giving a description with enough details to be convincing while still leaving it vague enough to apply to any number of different people.

It was easy for someone so used to creating characters.

Meanwhile, he tried his best to study, he really did! But most of the work still bored him so much he couldn't concentrate, and none of the facts he tried to memorise seemed to stick. The harder he pushed himself, the harder he found it to read or remember anything at all. Escaping into stories became his only pleasure, the praise that writing earned him his only joy.

But then even that became more difficult, inspiration gradually dried up, and even when he did manage to write, the words didn't seem to flow anymore. 

His last thread of happiness had snapped.

He was shaking now, submerged in the sea of memories as he shook with helplessness in the face of the life everyone expected him to live. Pressure built behind his eyes like a gathering storm, like a dam about to burst and release all the tears he’d been holding in for so long.

He blinked hard, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He focused his mind away from his pain onto Virgil, who had insulted him, dismissed him, taken Logan’s attention away from him. He turned the fear around and made it anger, stoking the flames of fury in his veins until he knew he’d be able to speak without his voice shaking.

Abruptly he stood up. “This isn’t working”, he said stiffly. “I should never come to _you_ of all people expecting a solution. I’m leaving.”

He was out of the room in three quick strides, not daring to look back in case Virgil saw the tears in his eyes. He pulled the door shut behind him harder than he meant to, almost slamming it, and winced. Once he was sure he was safely out of view, he closed his eyes, leaning back against the cold, hard wall and taking a deep breath, his body slumping as he released it. For one brief moment, the tension eased just slightly. 

He took another deep breath, then raised his head and opened his eyes as his mind sought frantically to concoct the words to say to persuade Logan to drive him home without facing Virgil again. But all his jumbled thoughts drained away as his gaze fell on a familiar figure with lavender hair and black framed glasses, who was watching him with his eyebrows raised and his head tilted forward in concern.

_Oh no no no_ , Roman thought, _not Patton. Of course he’d be Virgil’s housemate, why didn’t I guess? Now my humiliation is complete._

He straightened up, turning away as he squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hands over his face to wipe away the tears. Then he turned back to Patton and forced a weak smile.

Patton bit his lip and hesitated before saying “Roman? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine”, Roman replied, forcing his voice to keep steady.

“You don’t look fine, you’re...” _Crying_ , he didn’t say, but they both knew it was true.

Patton bit his lip and took a cautious step forward, as though approaching a wild animal that might attack or flee at any moment.

Roman took a few shaky breaths as his mind ran through his options. _Go back into Virgil’s room? Never! Go downstairs and face Logan? He’ll be annoyed with me for ditching Virgil after he tried to help me. No point in lying about it, either, he’ll find out the truth the next time they talk._

He risked a sideways glance at Patton. He looked so caring and so concerned. And so endearing, if Roman was honest with himself. The safe, grounding familiarity of his figure and the softness in his caramel eyes made some part of Roman long to wrap himself up in those gentle arms and escape the rest of the world.

Okay, so perhaps he had more than a “slight crush” on Patton.

He took one more deep breath, pushing down this new and unsettling awareness and forcing himself to smile. “I’ll admit I’m not feeling _quite_ my usual fabulous self”, he admitted, “But I’m just a bit stressed, that’s all. There’s no need for you to worry.”

Patton didn’t look at all reassured by that. He chewed his lip and looked from Roman to the door of Virgil’s room, and then back again. “Were you talking to Virgil?” he asked.

“Roman grimaced. “Yes. It didn’t go particularly well.”

“Aww, I’m sorry if he upset you”, Patton said with a small, sympathetic smile. “I know he can be a bit caustic, but he has a good heart.”

Roman shrugged non-committally. “I’m sure he has, somewhere in there. Virgil and I have never got along, but I trust Logan’s judgment. He wouldn’t date someone who didn’t have _some_ good, deep down.” He paused, feeling suddenly guilty, and added, “And besides, it wasn’t actually his fault. This time, at least.”

“Hmm~” Patton pulled a face. “What’s upset you, then?”

Roman slumped again. “I… Haven’t had a good week. Or month. Virgil was trying to help me relax, but it didn’t go well.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry I snapped earlier, it was wrong of me.”

Patton reached out a tentative hand towards him, not far enough to cross more than half the distance. Then he looked away and let it fall.

“Did you mean it?” he asked quietly.

“Mean what?”

Patton shook his head sadly, then lifted his eyes and forced a smile. “It doesn’t matter. And you can talk to me if you like, I can listen. I’d be happy to, if you’ll let me?”

There was an almost pleading expression on his face, and Roman suddenly found he couldn’t think of a single reason to refuse. Somehow, even after everything he’d done, Patton was here, gentle, sympathetic, and offering him a shoulder to cry on.

Pushing aside the last niggling whispers of pride warning him against it, he took a step forward. “In that case”, he replied, “If you don’t mind, I’ll tell you all about it.”


	7. The Writer’s Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two guys sitting in a bedroom, one foot apart and they’re both gay.
> 
> Warnings: Crying, mention of bullying, mention of parental disapproval of sexuality (not rejection, just not acceptance either)

Roman crossed the threshold a step behind Patton, taking the opportunity to twist his head and quickly wipe away his tears on the shoulders of his shirt. Then his eyes scanned the room around him, and he found them pricking with tears once more as he took in the bright, comfortable, reassuringly wholesome atmosphere.

The walls were painted the same sky blue as Patton’s favourite shirt, and either he or Virgil had taken it further by adding white cumulus clouds and a yellow sun. And, whether deliberately following the theme or by happy serendipity, one wall was dominated by a large rainbow flag.

It was all so comforting, so utterly, perfectly _Patton_ -like, that it felt almost like being embraced by the man himself. Roman closed his eyes, steadying his breathing as he tried to stop the emotions threatening to take hold. Much as his heart ached for its feelings to be returned, who knew if there was any hope left there? Patton had a crush on Remy or some stranger, and Roman was the one left wanting someone he might never have.

_Shut the feelings out, shut them down, put on the mask and put on a show. Patton must never know how you’re feeling._

He composed himself as best he could and opened his eyes… only to find the other man watching him with such a wistful, almost longing expression that he almost reeled from the emotional impact it had.

He swallowed, suddenly acutely self-conscious, and felt his face burn. Roman had never claimed to be particularly bright - his intelligence was the sort that understood sentence structure and dialogue flow rather than how to solve equations - but now the pieces of a jigsaw slotted together in his mind to produce a picture he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

_“You’re my hero!”_  
_“Is this the guy you were telling me you have a crush on?”_  
_“He’s not my boyfriend and never will be.”_  
_“Virgil housemate just had his heart broken by someone he harbours romantic feelings for.”_

Patton had feelings for him, and he’d broken his heart. And now that Roman knew, what was he going to do about it?

His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and he tried not to stumble as he moved to the centre of the room and looked around. Above the desk there was a large pin board covered with photographs, and he scanned them absently as he tried to get his emotions back under control. Some of the pictures were of flowers and cute animals, others of people most of whom Roman didn't recognise. Patton was in only three: one with Virgil outside the art museum, one with Remy, and one with two people who looked like his parents and three teenagers Roman supposed were younger siblings. 

In each one Patton was smiling brightly, exuding joy and affection for those he was with, and Roman suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in one of those photos, smiling by Patton’s side. He shook his head, forcing the feeling away, and turned his gaze elsewhere.

The remainder of the room was cluttered with a mixture of scrapbooks, knick-knacks, stuffed toys, and DVDs. The bookshelves were stuffed with a jumble of fiction and cookbooks, the only history books visible being those required for the course.

Roman tried to act nonchalant, but wherever he tried to focus his eyes, they kept drifting of their own accord back to Patton. Not for the first time, he cursed his overdeveloped romantic streak. Of all the people to develop an attraction to… It could be worse, a treacherous thought reminded him. At least this one’s single, and not straight.

Patton sat down on the dove-grey bed cover and patted the spot beside him. Roman smiled awkwardly as he followed, carefully keeping his knees pointed towards the centre of the room rather than at his companion.

_What on earth should I say? “I like you, you like me, let’s snuggle”?_

_Don’t you **dare** , brain, I’m watching you. Come on, I need a light, casual conversation starter._

“I never expected you and Virgil to be housemates”, he began at last. “How did you meet? You seem so...different.”

Patton grinned. “We are, but we get along great! We got talking in the first year when I saw him at the museum and went up and complimented his hoodie." 

Roman tried to imagine how that conversation would have gone, but couldn’t. Either it was beyond his creative block, or it was just too bizarre.

“How about you and Logan?” asked Patton, tilting his head to one side. “You’re pretty different yourselves. I’d never have guessed you were friends.”

Roman shrugged. “We met at fencing club in our first year”, he explained. “Logan joined because it’s a structured, mentally-challenging sport with minimal physical contact. _I_ joined because I wanted a chance to fight with swords.”

Patton nodded in understanding. “You wanted to be a knight, right?”

“Well, yes...” Roman confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

Patton beamed, his face lighting up in a way that made Roman’s head spin. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “After all, you were my knight in shining armour outside the club.”

_Oh, calm **down** , Roman!_ He could feel the warmth of another blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. _Say something! Anything! Change the topic before he notices how red you are!_

“You’re the real ‘Knight’” he found himself saying. “Do you have any idea how envious I’ve always been of your surname?”

_What the hell, brain?!_

Patton bit his lip and ducked his head, but he couldn’t hide his grin or the red flush spreading across his face. Roman took a deep breath, trying to think past the butterflies and find a safer topic of conversation.

“I, uh, don’t have the time for fencing anymore, sadly”, he said with forced lightness. “Or the energy, to be honest. I’ve been far too stressed with everything else I’ve got going on.”

“Hmm~ Is that what Virgil was supposed to help you with?”

“Well that was part of it”, Roman admitted. “He was trying to help me learn to relax. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with writer’s block, and I hoped that would cure it.”

“Oh yes! Your writing!” Patton’s eyes widened. “You never told me! What kind of things do you write?”

_Wrong topic! Abort!_ Roman’s stomach clenched and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, unconsciously moving his knees to point even further away from Patton. “Well, I write a lot of poetry”, he said, his eyes on the wall, “And also...fanfiction.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head to see the response. To his surprise, Patton was almost glowing with excitement.

“That’s so _cool_!” he breathed. “Which series do you write about?”

Roman swallowed, a half-proud, half-embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve written a few alternate universe pieces with Disney characters”, he said, “But I currently write mainly _Dragon Witch Chronicles_ fics.

Patton squealed – he actually _squealed_ – and leaned forward with his eyes shining. “What name do you write under?" he asked eagerly.

Roman flushed. “I can’t tell you _that_. You’ll look up my work, and that would just be embarrassing!”

“Aww...” Patton’s face fell, but then he shrugged. “Oh well, if you write _Dragon Witch Chronicles_ fics, I’ve probably read them already anyway.”

“You won’t tell anyone will you?” Roman implored him desperately. “ _Please_ don’t mention it to _anyone_ , it’s a secret!”

Patton frowned. “Don’t your friends know about it?”

“No way!” Roman almost shrieked. “I can’t tell _them_! If they knew, they’d be sure to-” He broke off and shuddered. “In any case, they must _never_ find out. I have to hide it from everyone even _remotely_ linked to our course.”

Patton tilted his head slightly to one side, his soft brown eyes full of sadness and concern. “That sounds exhausting”, he remarked.

The words hit Roman like a heavy jousting lance. The truth of them, the external acknowledgement he hadn’t known he so desperately needed, went through him like a shockwave, and a sob wrenched itself from his chest past his lips before he could even think of trying to stop it.

Patton reached out a hand, but as before he hesitated and then pulled back. “Maybe that’s why you’re finding writing so hard?” he suggested gently. “Virgil always says he can’t create if he’s not honest. His art is an expression of himself, so if he hid who he truly is, he wouldn’t be able to make anything good.”

Roman swallowed, taking some deep breaths before he risked speaking. “M-maybe...” he admitted. “I used to love writing, but now it’s always a struggle. The thought of even _trying_ makes me nauseous.” He shook his head sadly. “Can I even call myself a writer, if I never seem to write anymore?”

Patton chewed his lip for a moment, looking down at the bed cover and stroking his fingers gently back and forth over it. “You know, I don’t think it’s only writing that makes you a writer”, he said at last. “I may not write myself, but the way I see it, you’re a writer because writing means so much to you, and because you feel so lost when you can’t do it. I think writing’s a part of who you are, even when you don’t write.”

“But I’ve barely written for _months_ , Patton!” Roman wailed. “The only things I’ve managed to write were a poem after I walked you home that time, and then a short story about-”

He broke off abruptly. He was _not_ going to tell Patton what that fic had involved. No _way_. If the subject matter weren’t embarrassing enough, there was always the risk he might _recognise_ it.

“Hmm~ Well, do you know what’s stopping you?” the man asked, ignoring the sudden stop. “Why does the thought of writing make you feel so bad?”

Roman shook his head and sighed. “There’s so much pressure, so much competition. I feel I’m devoting all I have to it, and yet no matter what I do, I can’t keep pace with all the faster, better, more talented writers out there.” He turned away and put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched with the effort of suppressing the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

When he managed to speak again, it was in tight, broken tones. “I need to do it, but… But I can’t… I can’t risk failure…”

There was silence for a minute, and despite his fears, Roman's curiosity pushed him to risk looking at Patton. The other man was chewing his lower lip again, his head tilted characteristically to one side.

“Do you think, maybe, you struggle because you’re trying so hard to compete?” he suggested, a touch cautiously. “I mean, you said you started writing because you enjoyed it, but you don’t seem like you’re enjoying it now. So why keep trying to force yourself?”

Roman swallowed. “Because I… I need the praise”, he said, his voice soft and cracked. “I need the acknowledgement, the proof that I’ve done something worthwhile.”

“Is that the only reason you write?” Patton asked softly, a hint of something like disappointment in his eyes.

Roman shook his head firmly. “No, but still, I can’t help but worry. What if nobody likes what I write? What if, after weeks of pouring my time and effort into a story, no one cares? With every creation I show to the world, I put my heart on the line. I risk apathy, rejection, and downright _hate_.”

“I’m sure no one will hate it”, Patton gently assured him, “Not if it’s something you’ve put your heart into creating.”

Roman gave a short, bitter laugh. “Don't be so sure. And besides, apathy is almost as bad, and I've experienced that many times. Hate may cut, but apathy bruises."

Patton blinked back the tears trying to well in his eyes. “I know it hurts, but… If other people don't enjoy your creations, that's _their_ loss, not yours. What matters most is that _you_ like what you’ve made.”

Roman sighed, his voice coloured with exhausted helplessness. “You must understand, nothing _stings_ like rejection. Nothing tears my soul and strips away my confidence more than pouring my heart and soul into creating something and then releasing it into the world only for the world to disregard it. And I _need_ people to tell me my writing is good, that it _means_ something to them, that I’m contributing _something_ to the world to justify my existence!”

Patton leaned back away from him, eyes widening in alarm, and Roman grimaced as he was hit by a sudden wave of self-disgust. Just when he’d realised he liked Patton, he had to go and scare him off. _Stupid, stupid, **stupid!**_

The adrenaline seemed to drain out of him, and he slumped, eyes downcast. But when he cautiously raised them again he saw none of the expected revulsion on Patton's face. 

Patton was leaning forward, head tilted to one side and forehead creased in concern.

“That’s not...” he began, quietly, hesitantly. “You don’t...” He broke off again and bit his lip, frowning as he tried to find the right words to say.

Roman waited, a tiny flicker of hope reigniting somewhere inside him. Maybe, just maybe, all hope wasn’t lost after all.

Patton took a deep breath and blinked rapidly - Were there tears in his eyes, too? Then at last he spoke.

“You don’t need to justify living, Roman. And if you have a purpose… Have you ever thought maybe it might be just to enjoy life? To make the world a little bit better in whatever way you can, even if it’s just by sharing your smile?”

“But writing is what I _do_!” Roman wailed. “I’m not like you, I’m no good at being kind, or making people happy! Without writing, I’m nothing but selfish, stubborn, insecure… - Feel free to stop me at any time! - I’m arrogant, egotistical...”

Patton smiled and shook his head. “You’re creative, caring, brave…” he looked down shyly, turning pink, “...Not to mention very handsome.”

Roman smiled wryly, trying to ignore the heat flooding his face. “Writing is what I do”, he repeated quietly. “It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the one chance I have to _make_ something of myself and make my family proud of me.”

Patton frowned, picking awkwardly at the bedspread. “Have you spoken to your family about how you feel?” he asked.

Roman shuddered involuntarily. “I’ve already disappointed my parents by being gay, I can’t fail at this too.”

“They don’t accept the fact you’re gay?” Patton asked gently, leaning forward in sympathy.

“They wouldn’t kick me out or anything”, Roman quickly assured him. “They just… try to ignore it. They don’t say anything, but I know from their silence they don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry”, Patton said sadly. “That’s horrible.”

Roman shrugged and looked away. “Ever since I came out, they’ve tried to pretend it never happened. I’m an only child, and they were…very unhappy that I was dramatically reducing their chance of biological grandchildren.

“Do you want children?” There was a slight shift in the air, and Patton seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for a response.

Roman hesitated. “I’m not sure”, he replied uncertainly. "It was always my parents’ priority, not mine, but… I suppose I _would_ like to be a father someday. Assuming I can ever get a well-enough paid job to support a child.” He sighed. “Not that there’s much hope of that if I fail my degree.”

Patton shuffled a little closer, his soft eyes fixed on Roman. “What would you choose for your future, if you didn’t have to worry about qualifications or what your parents might think?”

Roman swallowed, feeling his face heat up further but unable to take his eyes from Patton’s as he asked himself what he really wanted. Right now, the only answer his brain was giving him was _Patton_.

“I’d lo- I’d like to write”, he said at last. “To be a- a writer, a proper author, you know? A professional, making a living writing stories. That’s been my greatest dream for years.”

Patton’s whole face seemed to shine, the brightness of his smile bringing a deeper blush to Roman’s cheeks. “That sounds wonderful, he breathed. “What kind of stories would you write? Fantasy? Ooh, or maybe historical fiction? Is that why you’re studying history?”

Really, it was uncanny how easily this man seemed to read Roman like he himself was a book, with the secrets of his heart written out for those caramel eyes alone. He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes away to watch the wall.

“I’ve always loved historical fiction. Tales of knights and princes, heroism, chivalry, romance… I dreamed of studying those times and turning what I learned into stories of my own. And the stories were even more appealing when they had a generous sprinkling of fantasy. Dragons to fight or to tame, sorcerers good or evil weaving fabulous spells… I saw it all so clearly in my mind, and it wasn’t long before I began re-enacting my favourite tales and then creating my own – escaping my mundane everyday life into the role of hero in a dozen different fantasy lands.”

Patton leaned forward, his eyes wide as he drank in everything Roman said.

Roman smiled wistfully. “When I grew old enough that wearing a prince costume and wielding a plastic sword became frowned upon, I stopped acting my stories out and instead settled for writing the scenes from my mind onto paper.”

He turned to see Patton's reaction and found him gazing with rapt attention. "What do you think?” he asked nervously.

“I bet you’d look _amazing_ in a prince costume”, Patton replied with feeling.

Roman cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Yes, well, in any case, I decided that studying history would help with my writing, even though the reality turned out to be depressingly short of happy endings. I endured the school history lessons convinced that if I could just get through _this_ module, _this_ year, _this_ particular bit of tedium and misery I’d eventually be able to study the things I really wanted to. But now that I’m here, I’ve realised I _still_ don’t enjoy it and I never will.” He shook his head and sighed, his shoulders slumping as he looked again at the wall.

Patton shook his head. “You didn’t realise the past was never like it is in those stories?” he asked.

Roman turned back to face him, his eyes dull and rimmed with shadows. “I wanted so much for it to be real that I managed to convince myself”, he confessed. “And when the illusion finally crumbled, it was too late to turn back.”

“It’s never too late”, Patton said firmly. “Never.”

“I’ve wasted _years_ , Patton. _Years_ spent chasing an impossible dream. I know now that what I truly want is to spend the rest of my life writing stories. Every spare moment I have, free from the tedium of my course, I devote to dreaming up new fantasies to escape into.”

He sighed wearily. “In all honesty, it’s losing myself in those stories that's kept me going this far. And now..." He swallowed as a lump rose to restrict his throat and tears once more flooded his eyes. “...And now I can’t even seem to do that.”

There was silence for several minutes, as Roman leaned back against the wall and Patton chewed his lip, staring down at his own knees. As Roman replayed the conversation in his mind, an awareness gradually stole over him and he sat back up with a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry”, he said, with an apologetic smile, “I shouldn’t have been so negative about studying history. You probably love it.”

“Mm...” Patton bit his lip, and Roman was suddenly acutely aware he’d never even considered how he might feel about their course.

For a long moment the man was silent, then, “I find the past...comforting”, he said at last. “I can cope with even the most horrifying bits because they’re over, they’re gone. The present is too raw. You hide from it in fantasy worlds, I hide from it in the past.”

The sadness in his eyes caused flames of anger to flare suddenly in Roman’s chest. “Is this because of… You know, how the class treat you?” he asked, his voice edged with fury.

Patton hesitated and then nodded, his eyes still averted. “That’s part of it”, he mumbled, “It was worse at school, but back then I could go home to my family at the end of each day, and they'd make it all better. I miss them all so much."

His eyes filled with tears, and Roman internally panicked. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry! How do I stop him crying?!_

Patton sniffed, removing his glasses for a moment to dry his eyes. "Lessons here aren't so bad", he assured Roman, "As long as I find a seat early and keep my head down. And I know I can always talk to Virgil, I just don’t like to bother him when I know he has troubles of his own.” He sighed. “I just wish I knew what people think I’m doing so wrong.”

Suggestions flitted through Roman’s mind, a mix of his own observations and comments he’d heard from others. He could give Patton a list of reasons why people thought he was childish and weird, but…

“If they don’t appreciate you, that’s _their_ loss”, he said firmly. “I don’t want you to think you have to change for them. You’re warm, and kind, and fun to be with, and… I like you. I really do.”

Patton turned to look at him, his eyes wide. “Do you really mean it?” he asked softly. He reached out a hand once more, this time resting it lightly, tentatively on Roman’s arm. Roman felt his heart rate accelerate, and then, as so often, he moved without thinking. His hand was on Patton’s before he knew it, and the pink blush that lit up behind that dusting of freckles made him feel giddy.

“I, um...” he began, and then swallowed. At least one of them should probably have moved their hand by now, but neither had. Instead, he found himself caught up once more in those caramel eyes, so much lighter than his own, and he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that formed on his face.

“I like you a lot, Patton”, he confessed. “So I’d be happy for you to sit beside me in lectures. And to eat lunch together, if you want to.

“What if your other friends don’t want to include me?” Patton asked cautiously. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your friendships just for my sake.”

“Screw them”, Roman said passionately, “I want you.”

As Patton’s eyes widened and his face flared scarlet, Roman’s brain once more caught up with his mouth and he felt his own face blaze.

“I mean as a friend!” The words were ejected from his mouth in a rush, but as he turned away he couldn’t help adding softly, “...Or maybe more, if you’d agree to it.”

There was a long pause where they both looked everywhere except at each other. Then Patton finally murmured, “I’d like that.”

His voice was soft and husky, like the whisper of a breeze in the desert. _Thirsty_ , Roman’s brain helpfully supplied, and he gave it a swift mental kick.

Patton turned his hand and curled the fingers to lightly brush Roman’s. “You’re sure you don’t hate me?” he asked, shyly.

He tailed off as Roman reached forward and placed a finger to his lips.

“Patton, I could _never_ hate you, not now I’ve got to know you better”, he said, softly but with conviction. “You are an absolute _angel_ , and I hope to spend a great deal more time with you from now on.”

He removed his finger and then watched in confusion as his the man’s eyes filled once more with tears. “I- I’m sorry”, he stammered, “I didn’t mean to upset you… I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. Please don’t cry...”

Patton shook his head and sniffed as he tried to blink away his tears. Taking off his glasses again, he placed them carefully to one side so that he could wipe his eyes. It took a few moments before he could speak, and in that time he reached forward to touch Roman’s sleeve once more. He stroked his fingers back and forth over the fabric a few times, then stopped and curled his fingers to gently clutch it.

“I’m not an angel”, he mumbled, his voice still choked with tears. “I’m over-sensitive and disorganised. I make silly jokes and pretend to be happy, even though I know nobody likes me.”

“ _I_ like you”, Roman told him fiercely. “And besides, I don’t see angels as _perfect_. I see them as those people who care about others and always do their best to put them first. Those who strive every day to make the world better in any way they can. And by that definition, you are _unequivocally_ an angel.”

He shifted closer and put an arm around Patton, loosely at first, then tightening reassuringly as the man settled into his embrace.

He gazed down, taking in the view from up close of Patton’s soft waves of lavender hair and the galaxy of freckles covering his face. The tear tracks were still damp beneath his closed eyes, but there was a peacefulness there now, a contentment that warmed Roman’s heart. Never before had he felt so utterly entranced by someone, or so deeply protective of them. As he revelled in the sight and in his newly-realised adoration, words began to form in his mind, and he gathered them up, shaping them into lines that flowed straight from his heart.

“If ever tears are in your eyes  
Like salt in caramel  
And sadness wraps you in its curse  
I’ll fight to break that spell.

I have no castle or acclaim  
No fortune to convince  
But I will want for nothing if  
You’ll let me be your prince.”

Patton lifted his head and gaped at him. “Did you write that?” he breathed, “You’re _amazing_!”

“You inspire me”, Roman told him. “The only times I’ve written lately have been after spending time with you. You were absolutely right: I can be myself with you, and that sets my creative spirit free. Patton, my dearest, you’re my _Erato_ , my _Calliope_!”

“I’m your what now?”

“My _muse_. I feel I could write anything with you by my side!”

The rose-pink flush spread from Patton’s cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “Oh! Well, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can!”

“Simply spending time with you is enough”, Roman assured him. “I can already feel the creativity welling up in my veins! Oh, I could kiss you!”

At the sudden wideness of Patton's eyes and his bright red face, Roman replayed his own words in his mind. Then he felt his own cheeks grow hot at the realisation of what he’d just said. One day, perhaps, he would learn to think before he spoke, but this was clearly not that day.

There followed several seconds of excruciating silence as Roman’s eyes roamed every bit of the room that didn’t contain Patton. When at last he risked a glance at the other man, he found him looking back with a shy smile – a smile Roman’s own lips couldn’t help but mirror.

“Did you mean that?” Patton asked, scarcely above a whisper.

Roman felt a surge of courage. “Every word”, he replied fervently.

Patton’s smile widened. “I think I might like that”, he said, tears welling in his eyes once more.

Before Roman knew what he was doing, he had swept the other man into a hug. He could feel his own eyes stinging, but this time he made no effort to stop himself from crying. Burying his face in the collar of Patton’s shirt, he breathed in the glorious scent as he felt warm arms slip around him in turn.

And suddenly, for the first time in too many years, he felt safe, secure, and cared for.

He tightened his hold, drinking in comfort, as a warm tide of protectiveness spread through him. Their classmates could say what they wanted, could stare, and whisper, and jeer. He would never, _ever_ let Patton feel lonely again.

Then, gradually, the memory of his words filtered through the companionable silence and Roman felt a warmth of a different kind ignite in his chest.

He moved back, pushing Patton gently away from him, then lifted a hand to ever so lightly cup the man’s cheek. To his delight, Patton leaned into the touch, and Roman could see his breath quicken and a new spark appear in his eyes.

They moved together, leaning in slowly but surely to close the space between, until their lips met with a light brush that grew in intensity and all Roman could think was _soft_ , and _warm_ , and _home_.

*****

“Pat?” Virgil’s voice called through the door several minutes later. “Is Roman in there? He stormed out of my room a while ago, and Logan and I haven’t seen him since.”

Patton pulled back and looked at Roman, who gave him a half smile and a nod. “He’s with me”, he called back. “We were, uh… We were talking about why we chose to study history.”

Roman slammed a hand across his mouth to suppress a chuckle.

“Wait, you were?” asked Virgil. “Actually, forget that, Logan wants to know if Roman wants a lift home. He can stay the night in your room if you prefer, though.”

For a second the two froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Then Patton squeaked “I-don’t-think-that’s-a-good-idea!”, the words tumbling out of him in a shrill rush.

“Well, figure it out quickly, ‘cause Logan’s leaving soon”, Virgil warned.

Roman smiled wryly. Yeah, it was probably best not to spend the night together – even literally sleeping – before they’d even been on a first date. Speaking of which…

“I shall have to leave for now”, he said, “But perhaps we could meet again tomorrow? For a real date, this time.”

Patton looked ready to explode from sheer joy. “Yes!” he squealed. “That sounds great! Where do you want to meet?”

Roman hesitated. While his romantic instincts were screaming at him that Patton deserved a grand gesture, like being whisked off to Disneyland Paris for the weekend, his parents would hardly consider that a defensible use of his student loan. He had better keep things realistic, at least for the first date.

“It’s late”, he said, “And I’m sure we’ll both be tired tomorrow. How about we just go for a walk together by the river, and then get some drinks at Costa. I promise I’ll plan something more exciting for the second date.”

“Second...date...” Patton breathed, his eyes wide as he processed the words. “That sounds wonderful! And Costa will be great, you know I like going there.”

Roman smiled. “Good, because I believe I owe your barista friend an apology. And you as well.” He lifted Patton’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “I apologise from the bottom of my heart for what I said before. I would be honoured to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”

Patton’s enthusiastic response was cut short by a sharp rap on the door and Logan’s harsh tones. “Roman Zito, you have precisely three minutes to exit this room and get into my car. When that time is up, I will drive home whether you are with me or not.”


	8. Happily Ever After?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally the day of Roman’s first date with Patton, but first he has some apologies to make and bridges to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal heartfelt thanks to everyone who has supported this fic with kudos and especially with comments! <3 I put a lot of my own experiences into writing both Roman and Patton, and the fact that people have found them relatable means the absolute world to me <3

Roman woke around 10 am, feeling happier and more rested than he had in months. Lazily, he rolled onto his back and stretched, enjoying the sensation of relaxed energy in his muscles. 

For several minutes he just lay there, mentally replaying the highlights from his time with Patton last night. The way the man’s face had lit up when he smiled. The warmth and affection in those beautiful eyes of his. How it had felt to hold him tightly and feel each breath he took.

Remembering brought emotions flooding back to him, and he suddenly had an overwhelming need to send his new boyfriend a good-morning message – to share some of this glorious feeling with the man who had caused it. 

Without sitting up, he reached out an arm to his bedside table and switched on his phone, then lay waiting patiently for it to warm up, playing over in his mind the best wording to use.

He was startled when it pinged a notification of a new text, and sat up to read it. Then an indulgent smile spread over his face when he discovered it was from Patton, who had apparently had the same idea as him.

_Good morning, Roman! I hope you slept well <3_

_\- Patton_

Roman considered for a moment, then typed a reply.

_Good morning to you, my dearest! I slept magnificently and I hope you did too <3_  
_I eagerly await our rendezvous this afternoon. See you soon!_

_\- Roman_

He glanced at the time and frowned. Not that it was an unusual time for him to get up, despite all Logan’s remarks about circadian rhythms and sleep schedules, but who knew how long it would take him to get ready for this date?

He climbed out of bed and stretched, pausing for a moment to led the rush of light-headedness pass before wrapping his burgundy dressing gown around him and shuffling out to the kitchen.

He was pouring cereal into a bowl when Logan emerged from his own room, having evidently been awake for hours. He was already fully dressed for the day and looked far more alert than seemed fair to Roman. As their eyes met, there was a moment of tension as they both recalled last night’s silent car journey home. Then Logan shrugged and took his mug down from the cupboard. He glanced back at Roman, his expression impassive.

“Would you-?” he began.

“If you’re making some, please”, Roman answered.

Logan gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and placed Roman’s mug beside his own, before turning to fill the kettle.

Roman took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Logan, I’m-”

"Save it", Logan interrupted curtly. "Virgil is the one who requires an apology. Give him a satisfactory one, and I will consider you fully forgiven." 

“Will he be over later?”

“I’m expecting him at 11:30 precisely.”

Roman nodded. “I’ll be ready”, he promised. “And… thank you. For everything.”

Logan didn’t look up, but a small, pleased smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he poured hot water onto the teabags. Roman relaxed and stood idly nibbling dry cereal, watching patiently as Logan waited for the tea to brew. Three minutes, always, never a second more or less, but he made the best tea of anyone Roman knew.

When his breakfast was finished, Roman dressed casually in an old t-shirt and jeans and considered how best to fill the time before the date. There were three tasks he wanted to accomplish in the intervening hours: writing, deciding on the perfect outfit, and… well, he needed to make up for his unfortunate evening outburst, and if he put it off any longer it would be too late.

*****

It was after eleven before he was ready to start thinking about what to wear for the date. It shouldn't be overly formal, since they were only going for a riverside stroll and then coffee. But even so, he wanted something smart and stylish, something that would really _impress_ Patton. His date shared his taste for storybook princes, after all. 

With his favourite Disney album on to get him in the mood, he hunted through his wardrobe, muttering to himself as he threw assorted articles of clothing onto the bed. It shouldn’t be this difficult. Patton saw him nearly every weekday, after all! Yet somehow that made him even more determined to wear something special, something striking he would never have shown on campus.

The sound of a knock at the front door made him pause, and a few seconds later he heard voices from the living room. Virgil had arrived, and Roman hadn’t felt so unprepared since his last exam. He didn’t dare consider what might happen if his idea fell flat. Virgil was his housemate’s boyfriend and his boyfriend’s housemate, so having a good relationship with him would make all four of their lives easier. And much as he hated to admit he’d been wrong, an apology was the only way to achieve that.

He added the clothes he’d been holding to the heap on the bed, then checked his notes one more time, having one last quick run through of everything he wanted to say. And then, more quietly than usual, he opened the door of his room and stepped through.

Virgil was perched on the arm of the sofa, leaning his arms on the back and watching as Logan brewed herbal tea in a glass teapot in the kitchen. Even with makeup on he looked exhausted, but his expression when he saw Roman was cautious rather than hostile. Roman sighed inwardly with relief. This might just go okay after all.

“Hello, Virgil”, he greeted him lightly.

“Roman”, the emo replied with a small nod of acknowledgement.

_Wait, what? He called me by my name, to my face? He’s never done that before! Is that good or bad?_

Roman looked frantically over at Logan, who raised his eyebrows in silent question.

_Right. Better get this over with._

He took a deep breath and moistened his lips - unnecessary considering what he was about to do - then raised his hands. Slowly, carefully, he signed “I shouted. I’m stupid. I’m sorry.”

He could see the tension fall away as Virgil’s shoulders lowered and his expression relaxed.

“Glad you noticed”, the man said without malice.

“Am I forgiven?”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, for now. We’ll be fine as long as you don’t hurt Patton.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not planning on standing him up or anything, right? He’s been gushing about you all morning, but I can tell he’s worried, too.”

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of doing any such _thing_!” Roman exclaimed. “Patton is the sweetest man I have ever _met_ , and he deserves to be treated like a _prince_. I was a fool not to realise sooner how utterly _wonderful_ he is; how honest, and open-hearted, and unashamedly _Patton_. I’m only thankful he was patient enough to wait until I woke up and noticed.

Virgil gave a snort of laughter. “Well, okay then. But if you break his heart, I’ll kill you. You know that, right?”

Roman swallowed. “I did think you might”, he admitted.

Logan rolled his eyes as he carried two teacups over and handed one to Virgil. “Surely you’re aware that Virgil is merely saying that for dramatic effect? It’s hyperbole; he would never actually kill you, although I have no doubt he’s capable of a wide variety of other acts of revenge.”

“Uh, yeees...” Roman shook himself and then grinned, his air of self-confidence returning. “Of course, I knew that. And I can assure you both that protecting Patton’s happiness is my _top_ priority. Even if the whole world turns against me, I shall continue in my quest, content with his smile as my only reward. I shall-”

“Yeah yeah, we get the picture”, Virgil interrupted, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “In that case, Princey, you go for it. Make him happy, okay?”

“I most certainly will!”

“You'd better." Virgil looked him up and down appraisingly and wrinkled his nose. "I assume you're not gonna go on the date dressed like that?" 

Roman put a hand to his chest and gasped in mock horror. “I am _shocked_ and _offended_ that you would even _suggest_ such a thing!” he exclaimed. “Naturally, I intend to wear a suave, elegant ensemble that Patton will _adore_!” He paused, turning slightly pink. “Although if you have any suggestions for what he’d like best, please let me know. I haven’t actually settled on an outfit yet.”

*****

Ten minutes later they stood side by side in Roman’s room, looking down at the myriad articles of clothing covering his bed.

“How do you even have this many clothes?” asked Virgil, his voice tinged with a kind of horrified awe.

Roman frowned. “This is only a fraction of the ones I have here”, he informed him, “But none of the others would be appropriate for a _date_.”

Virgil shook his head. “O- _kay_ , well, you can ditch this, this, and that one, for a start. Patton likes soft or smooth fabrics, and if you want him to touch you, you’re gonna need to pick ones he’ll like the feel of.”

“That’s an issue for him?”

“You better believe it.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “That a problem, Princey?”

Roman drew himself up taller. “ _Hardly_. But let me think…” He ran his eyes over the remaining clothing, then picked up a white silk shirt trimmed subtly with gold and a soft red moleskin waistcoat. “How about these?” he asked.

Virgil brushed the material lightly with his fingers and gave him a reluctant smile. “Yeah, I think he’ll like those”, he admitted. “You might not be as bad at this as I thought.”

Roman gasped. “I am _devoted_ to Patton!” he insisted. “And I assure you I’ll do whatever it _takes_ to be the greatest _possible_ boyfriend to him!”

“Dude, literally yesterday afternoon you said you’d never date him, and then you asked him out like four hours later. So _excuse me_ if I need some convincing that you actually care about him!”

Roman froze, his mind racing as he considered yesterday’s events from Virgil’s perspective. _He was here with Logan when he got a call from Patton, who was distraught after what I’d said. So he went home and they ate ice cream, listened to music, and then did some colouring together. And meanwhile, Patton probably poured his heart out about what I’d said and done._

_Wait a minute..._

“You knew it was me”, he stated aloud. “How long have you known… Well, that Patton and I were _acquainted_ , at least? You never mentioned to me that you lived with him.”

Virgil shrugged. “I only found out yesterday, when he let your name slip after you screwed up his heart and stomped on it with help from Remy. He’d been going on for ages about some guy he liked, but up until then he’d always called him “the angel” or “my hero”, or “the most beautiful man in the world”, so there was no freaking way I’d ever have guessed it was you.”

Roman winced. “I was an absolute _dunce_ , wasn’t I?” he groaned.

“’Was’?”

“I’m trying to be nice to you, Ralph _Dread_ man!”

“How many of those do you even have?!”

“Only about six”, Roman confessed. “I don’t know many famous Welsh people.”

Virgil snorted, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll just have to educate you", he said. "Good thing it looks like we'll be spending a lot more time together from now on.”

Roman turned away, busying himself putting away the rejected outfits to avoid looking at Virgil as he spoke. “I did appreciate you trying to help last night”, he admitted, “You didn’t have to, especially when you knew how I’d treated Patton.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly your biggest fan just then. But Logan told me he’d never seen you-” Virgil waved a hand, “ _Hurting_ so much, I guess. And I know how freaking difficult creative blocks can be to deal with. I kinda felt I couldn’t leave you to face that alone.”

Roman turned back to face him. “Are we friends?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not enemies, at least. We’ll take it from there.”

*****

Willow, chestnut, beech and lime trees in myriad shades of green provided a backdrop to the lazy olive flow of the river as Roman walked quickly towards their arranged meeting place. Patton was waiting on a bench beneath a lime tree, chewing his lip and running his fingers back and forth over the smooth wood of the seat beside him.

Roman paused, taking in the sight of him lit by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, and the way it caught the fluffy edges of his hair and surrounded it with a softly glowing halo. He could have gazed enraptured at that image all day, but Patton was clearly nervous and he was eager to ease his concern. He smiled as he walked over, delighting in the way his date’s whole expression filled with joy when he saw him.

“You came!” Patton exclaimed happily.

“Of course, my dearest! I wouldn’t have missed a date with you for the world! Shall we go for a stroll?”

Patton nodded and stood up, and they set out along the path. Patton hummed cheerfully as they walked, stealing happy glances at Roman, and Roman couldn’t help remembering their first walk together, from the nightclub car park to Patton’s home.

He reached out to gently brush his hand against the back of Patton's, then glanced sideways to check the other man's expression. He was smiling, biting his lip, and Roman felt a finger hook out to link with one of his. He felt a sudden surge of butterflies, and a broad grin spread over his face. Accepting the silent permission, he grasped Patton's hand fully, intertwining their fingers. The bubbly giggle from beside him and the way Patton enthusiastically gripped his hand back warmed his heart along with his face, and he walked a little taller from there on. 

*****

They ambled slowly, their footsteps unconsciously synchronised and their hands still tightly intertwined, lost in each other and in the atmosphere of the day. After a while, they slowed to a halt as they approached an old wooden bridge, captivated by the way the sunlight caught everything just so, making the colours pop and the river sparkle like ground diamonds.

“How about taking a selfie together, with this view in the background?” Roman suggested, remembering the photographs in Patton’s room. “You can print a copy for your pin board as a memento of our first date.

Patton turned in surprise, then threw his arms around him. “You remembered my board!” he exclaimed.

Roman patted his back, chuckling softly at his enthusiasm. "Of course, and I'd very much like to be included if that’s alright with you?”

Patton nodded eagerly, stepping back as Roman took out his phone and then tucking close against his side so they could both fit well in the frame. Roman took several shots to get the best possible picture, holding his phone out at arm’s length to get in as much of the background as possible.

“Would you mind if I take one just of you?” he asked when he was satisfied. “I’d like a portrait to keep, something to look at when I miss his boyfriend.

Patton nodded frantically, too flustered with embarrassed joy to speak. He positively _glowed_ in the photograph Roman took, and afterwards they sat down on a bench nearby to look at the pictures and enjoy the atmosphere. Roman sent the picture of them both to Patton's phone, and when Patton saw the solo shot he immediately asked for that one too, certain his family would love it. 

“They won’t mind you having a boyfriend?” Roman asked hesitantly, still unsure how to break the news to his own parents.

Patton grinned. “Nope, they've always been fine with me being gay! And if they weren't they'd have a big problem, ‘cause Dee's pan and Ivy and Ellie are both nonbinary." 

“Those are your siblings?” Roman queried.

“Yup! Dee, the next eldest after me, and then Ivy and Ellie are twins!”

“D-I-V-L-E”, Roman repeated slowly. “Patton, you do realise that’s an anagram of devil?”

Patton blinked at him as he processed the information, then burst out laughing. “Oh my goodness, I never thought of that! You’re so clever!” He slipped his arm through Roman’s and snuggled against him. “It’s ironic though, because they’re all such angels.”

Roman leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “They must be, if they’re anything like you”, he said, smiling.

Patton's face instantly flared scarlet, and he hid it against Roman's chest. Roman could feel the vibration of his giggles, and stroked his back until he recovered enough to sit back up, still grinning delightedly. 

“Tell me more about them?” Roman suggested. “I want to know everything about you, because I just know I’m going to adore it all.”

Patton pulled out his phone, still blushing hard, and flicked through his camera roll for family photos. A few seconds later, he snuggled closer again to show Roman a picture of a boy in his late teens. 

“This is Dee, he’s seventeen and a bit of a troublemaker, but he’s a big softy at heart”, he explained, smiling affectionately at the picture of a lanky boy in a steampunk outfit. He swiped through a few more, before stopping on one of very identical ginger-haired twins of about fifteen. “And these are Ivy and Ellie”, he said proudly, “Aren’t they adorable?”

“They’re beautiful”, Roman agreed with a smile, “I can definitely see the resemblance to you.”

Patton blushed brightly again, flapping his free hand and giggling with embarrassed delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re so smooth!” he squealed. “I can’t wait to tell them all about you!”

Roman tightened his arm around him and smiled, but a part of his mind couldn’t help contemplating just how many people seemed to care about Patton. Whatever their university peers thought of him, he had a whole life beyond the campus, filled with people who wore their weirdness and individuality with pride.

Patton, Logan, Virgil, Remy. Geeks and nerds and misfits, facing the world unashamedly as themselves. Perhaps losing his reputation wouldn’t be so bad, if he could be among company like them.

*****

They were walking along Bridge Lane, heading to Sanders Street when it happened. They’d been comparing their top five favourite Disney princes, and Roman was explaining with great animation why Eric was vastly superior to Aladdin, when, with a particularly wild wave of his free arm, he half turned and found himself face to face with Donny, watching with an amused smile on his face.

He froze, his arm still flung outwards in a way that would have been comical if not for the circumstances. _Oh no_ , he thought, dark, leaden dread filling his stomach, _Oh no no no, anyone but him._

He had seen them, seen them chatting and smiling openly together, seen their hands linked and the undisguised affection in their eyes as they looked at each other. And now he would think that… He would _know_ that…

Instinctively, Roman pulled his hand from Patton’s. His mind was racing, panicking, trying to think of anything he could possibly say to wipe that growing smirk off his former friend’s face. He flinched from the gaze, the eyebrow arched in intrigued amusement. Donny was fully aware of the power that chance had unexpectedly thrust into his hands.

Roman turned away, unable to bear the sight, and his eyes fell instead on Patton and saw…

Dejection. Devastation. Despair.

The man’s shoulders had slumped, his smile had fallen away, and the brightness was gone from his downcast eyes. The hand Roman had freed hung limply at his side. 

A sudden protectiveness swelled within Roman, beginning in his chest and building into a wave that rushed through his whole body, the torrent washing away every last remaining trace of hesitance. Instinctively, his back straightened, drawing him up to his full height as he turned back to look Donny squarely in the eyes, and wrapped his arm tightly, possessively around Patton.

“Hello, fancy seeing you here!", he said with a calm that belied the heat in his veins. "Sorry I can't stay and chat, but Patton and I are on a date, and frankly he's far better company than you. See you in class on Monday!" 

Half-shielding, half-steering Patton, he strode past his former friend without another glance. A low-level trembling spread through his body as he braced himself for whatever consequences such audacity might bring, but he kept his steps firm and even until they rounded the corner into Sanders Street and were safely out of sight. Then he paused to check on the man still held closely at his side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, dropping his arm and stepping back to give Patton space.

Patton nodded. “You just gave up your friends for me”, he murmured, running a trembling hand through his hair as he stared wide-eyed at Roman, who merely shrugged.

“You're worth it", he said simply. "And besides, I never really liked them much. Actually, I'd have liked to punch him, but violence rarely solves anything outside stories." He frowned and moistened his lips nervously. "Although now that bridge is in flames, I wonder… I know Remy and I got off to a bad start, but do you think there's any chance he might forgive me? You and Logan – and possibly Virgil - are now the only friends I have left." 

Patton grinned, snuggling close to Roman who slipped an arm around him once more. “I’m sure he will if you ask nicely”, he assured him. “And you two have so much in common, I bet you’ll soon be good friends.”

“You… You don’t have a crush on him, do you? Only I thought last time… I know I misinterpreted things, but...”

Patton turned and reached up to cup Roman’s face in his hands, looking at him with so much adoration that the rest of the world seemed to fade away, and Roman was once again lost in the man in his arms.

"Remy is sweet, and fun, and a good friend", Patton told him gently, “But… He’s not you. You’re the one who saved me when I was in trouble, and who came back to comfort me when I felt like no one cared. And whatever everyone else thinks, I know you’re brave, and thoughtful, and that you care _so much_ that your feelings can’t help but overflow into the world through your writing. You’re _Roman_ , and that’s why I- I love you.”

Perhaps the world would claim it was too soon, not something that should be said on only the first date, but that world had ceased to matter to Roman the moment he heard those words. His breath caught, the reply he longed to make trapped in his chest as an emotion beyond words overtook him. Slowly his gaze moved from Patton’s eyes downwards, taking in the deepening pink of his blush, before settling on his lips as he leaned in and connected them gently with his own.

It was the softest, briefest of kisses, which nevertheless left both their hearts pounding. And when Roman broke it, he lingered so close their breath continued to intermingle as he murmured “I love you too, Patton”, before wrapping his boyfriend up in his arms once more.

*****

Remy was assembling a drink for a customer when they walked in, but as he turned to hand it over, his eyes fell on the two of them and an infuriatingly smug smile blossomed on his face. Roman met his gaze with a defiant glare, keeping his arm wrapped securely around Patton’s waist.

“Lemme take this one”, Remy told the barista at the register, “These gurls are mine.” The woman shrugged and stepped back, ready to make up their orders once Remy had taken them.

“Hi, Remy!” Patton greeted him cheerfully, and the barista waggled his eyebrows above his sunglasses as he grinned back.

“Hey there, hon! Ya know, I thought this was just another ordinary day? But looks like ‘never’ came sooner than I expected.” He jerked his head in Roman’s direction. “So, what, like, happened here? Spill.”

Patton linked his arm through Roman’s and rested his head on his new boyfriend’s shoulder, grinning broadly.

Roman tried to scowl at Remy, but he just couldn't, not with that warm weight at his side and the butterflies fluttering wildly inside him. "I was wrong, okay?" he managed to say, his defiant tone utterly negated by the blush spreading across his cheeks and the love-struck smile tugging at his lips. 

“Mm-hmm~?” Remy raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m glad you noticed. So, what d’you gurls want to drink?”

Roman turned his head slightly to Patton, still clinging to his side. “Would you like your usual?” he asked.

“Yes, please!”

Roman gave him an affectionate squeeze and turned back to Remy, pushing an attempt at a stern expression onto his face. “A Salted Caramel Crunch Frostino each for me and my boyfriend”, he requested. “I’ll try one just this once, since Patton likes them so much.”

Remy smirked. “I might just give you plain ol’ caramel, ‘cause you’re salty enough already!” he teased.

Roman's face twitched, and he made a high-pitched _nggghhhaa_ sound which cut off abruptly when Patton kissed his cheek. 

“OMG, look at the two of you”, groaned Remy, rolling his eyes. “You’re un-be- _lievable_. Damn, gurls, you gotta stop making my single ass want a boyf of my own.”

“Awww, Remy~”, said Patton, giving his arm a sympathetic pat, “I’m sure you’ll find someone soon, you’re such a sweet coffee bean!”

Remy shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve scored a date for tonight with a cute Psychology postgrad from Minnesota, so perhaps we’ll hit it off and end up even sappier than you babes? Just so long as he doesn’t try to, like, _analyse_ me.”

“I wish you the best of luck in your quest for love”, Roman told him graciously.

“Yeah, I bet you do”, Remy replied with a smirk, “You just want me off the market so I don’t steal Patton, which is totes ridiculous ‘cause anyone can see he’s smitten with you.”

“I should hope so”, Roman said, blushing as he pulled Patton closer. He picked up his drink and moved to turn away, but Patton held him firmly in place.

“Just a moment”, he reminded him. “Remy, Roman has something else to say to you. Isn’t that right, Roman?”

Roman put his drink back down and sighed theatrically. “Alas, yes. Remy...” He took a deep breath. “Patton is adorable, and I was a fool not to notice it before. Or rather, a fool not to let myself accept that I _did_ notice. You were right, I was wrong, and… I apologise for shouting.”

“And growling?”

Roman’s blush deepened. “ _And_ growling.”

Patton squealed happily as the barista grinned, and Roman’s smile turned from small and embarrassed to broad and relieved.

“Apology accepted”, Remy said cheerfully, “And I guess I should say I’m sorry for pushing you so hard last time? But tbh I’m not, ‘cause it’s all worked out great! So, shall we, like, start over?” He held out a hand to Roman. “Hi, I’m Remy, Costa barista extraordinaire. Pleased to meet’cha.”

Roman shook the proffered hand firmly. “I’m Roman”, he said. “I’m a History student, fanfic writer, and -” he grinned “- I’m Patton’s boyfriend.”

The moment he released Remy’s hand, Patton enveloped him in a crushing hug, burying his face in his neck.

“Guess I’ll leave you to it, then”, said Remy, chuckling. He laid a brief, friendly hand on Roman’s shoulder, then flicked a wave as he turned and headed back to work.

*****

For a while, they simply enjoyed each other's company, shy smiles and giggles from Patton drawing affectionate chuckles from Roman. Comparing thoughts on their favourite books lead to speculating about the next in the series, before at last the conversation lulled for a while as their thoughts were drawn inexorably back to recent events. 

Patton bit his lip and played nervously with the straw of his drink. “Do you have any regrets”, he asked awkwardly.

“Oh, hell, yes!” Roman exclaimed with fervour, then instantly regretted it as disappointment dropped like a veil over Patton’s face. “Not you!”, he corrected hastily, “Not this! Quite the contrary in fact: I only regret that it took me so long to realise what a wonderful, compassionate, fun person you truly are.”

He reached out a hand to Patton’s, resting on the table, and enjoyed the blush that spread quickly across the man’s face as he began stroking it gently one finger at a time.

“So you’re going to be okay?” asked Patton. “On Monday… and afterwards?”

Roman took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as, for once, he carefully considered what to say. “It’s not going to be easy”, he admitted at last. “I’m sure by the time we next see them, everyone on the course will have heard. I’ve always struggled with my self-worth, and whatever happens on Monday certainly won’t help that.”

He raised his head and gave Patton a faint but honest smile. “I’ll get through it, though, with you by my side, and it will be a relief to finally shed the mask and be myself. Roman the fantasy nerd. No more secrets.”

“Hmm~” Patton turned his hand to properly hold Roman’s, his lips curving into a smile and his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No more secrets?”

“None”, promised Roman.

“In that case, will you tell me what name you write fanfic under?”

Roman half laughed, half groaned as he realised he couldn’t escape it this time. He put his face in his hands and gave an exaggerated sigh, then spread his fingers to peek through them. “I’m PrincelyPoet”, he confessed.

Patton’s face lit up. “I knew it!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

“You did?” Roman frowned.

“Well, not for certain, but I thought you might be. His writing reminded me of you.”

“You’ve read my work, then?” Roman wasn’t sure whether he felt more pleased or embarrassed at the thought.

Patton grinned and stuck a hand across the table for him to shake. “You’re my favourite author!” he said gleefully. “Pleased to meet you, I’m CaramelCat!”

Roman closed his eyes as he held out his hand. “Of course you are”, he chuckled, “I should have guessed. Still… When did you realise for sure who I was?”

“Hmm~” Patton considered for a moment. “Well, that last little fic you posted was a bit of a giveaway, after what had just happened. Reading that made me so happy! I felt like you really cared, and you were just too shy to say it to my face.”

“That was...probably precisely what it was”, Roman confessed. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but it hurt me deeply to see you so upset.”

Patton hummed softly, a smile on his face as he brushed his fingers gently back and forth over Roman’s hand resting on the table. “PrincelyPoet...” he murmured, “It suits you. I’ll never forget that poem you wrote me yesterday.”

Roman took his other hand, warming the fingers chilly from holding the ice-cold drink. “I still stand by every word of it”, he told him. “And I meant what I said about you inspiring me. I wrote another poem for you this morning.”

He smiled as Patton’s caramel eyes widened and lit up in surprise. For a moment he took in the image of that face, scattered with freckles, softly blushing, and filled with eager anticipation. He let it fill his heart and warm his soul, and then, overwhelmed with love, he began to speak:

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?  
Your smile could put the radiant sun to shame  
The warmth that dances in your gentle eyes  
Could melt the harshest winter’s icy chill  
And I would know, for in that self-same way  
You melted through the walls around my heart  
Setting me free into a better world  
Where I can be myself here by your side”.


End file.
